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Class : 

Book 

Copyright^ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



ECLECTIC ENGLISH CLASSICS 



SELECTED POEMS AND TALES 

OF 

EDGAR ALLAN POE 



EDITED BY 

ROSCOE GILMORE STOTT 

HEAD OF THE ENGLISH DEPARTA\ENT, 

EASTERN KENTUCKY STATE NORMAL, 

RICHMOND, KENTUCKY 



AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY 

NEW YORK CINCINNATI CHICAGO 



^ 0> 



Copyright, 19 14, by 
American Book Company 

SELECTED POEMS AND TALES OF POE 
W. P. I 



2o 

JG 14 1914 

©CI.A379096 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 



Introduction 

Poems 

To 13 

To the River — 13 

To Helen 14 

The Sleeper «... 14 

Lenore 16 

The Valley of Unrest 17 

Hymn 18 

To One in Paradise 19 

To F — 19 

To Zante 20 

Bridal Ballad 20 

The Conqueror Worm 21 

Dreamland 23 

The Raven 24 

Eulalie • . . . . 29 

Ulalume 30 

To Helen 33 

For Annie 35 

The Bells 38 

Annabel Lee 42 

To My Mother 43 

Eldorado 43 

Tales 

The Assignation 45 

The Fall of the House of Usher 59 

A Descent into the Maelstrom 81 

The Goldbug 100 

The Purloined Letter 140 

Suggestions and Notes 161 

3 



INTRODUCTION 

EDGAR ALLAN POE 

His Boyhood. Poe was born in Boston, January 19th, 
1809. It is well to remember that it was this year that 
brought to the world a half-dozen men who are world-known 
and loved to-day. The early death of Poe's parents prob- 
ably changed his career and fortunes. Had they lived, we 
might have heard during all these years of the famous actor- 
playwright of Richmond, Virginia. Doubtless, he would 
have been a stage child with the wonderful wealth of stage 
lore and tradition surrounding him. But this possibility 
vanished in so brief a time! 

David Poe, Edgar's father, had been making a losing fight 
against consumption, for its ravages were unrelenting and 
the man's body was already frail. He died in Norfolk in the 
latter part of 181 1. With poverty facing her, Edgar's mother 
came to Richmond a little later to become a member of a 
theatrical company popular in that day. She possessed a 
genuine histrionic talent and, had she lived, she could have 
easily cared for and educated her children. But the exposure 
and want of former days had their reckoning. She died in 
the last days of the same year. 

Friends did not delay in offering protection and care to 
the little ones left in such great need. The baby sister was 
promptly given all necessary comforts by a Mrs. MacKenzie. 
Edgar was taken into a home which he was destined later 
to make famous. The Allan household was one of finer cul- 
ture than Edgar's own would have been, even though the 
elder Poe had lived. It meant to the infant boy a shield 
from distress and want, for we know that Mrs. Allan was 
ever eager to perform the kindly services that a motherly 
nature prompted. The Allan household and that of the 
MacKenzies were always on the friendliest terms and Edgar 
had in infancy and boyhood the companionship of his little 

5 



6 INTRODUCTION 

sister. Meanwhile in both homes he was absorbing the 
Southern spirit, and its stamp, coming as it did in these forma- 
tive years, proved indelible. His attire was always in keeping 
with the standard of living which became his by virtue of the 
Allans' generosity. The lad's face is described as plainly 
reflecting his sensitive nature. Chief among his juvenile 
abilities was the art of reading. This may be considered as 
indicative of his later talent for poetry. 

When the boy was but six years of age, the Allans went 
abroad and Edgar was placed in a private school near London. 
The institution was pleasantly situated in a neighborhood 
teeming with quaint romance and historical tradition. Here 
the heart of the boy, who later awakened a whole nation to 
a knowledge and admiration of his literary powers, dreamed 
its first wonderful dreams and fashioned out its childish imag- 
inings. The impress of these days was more lasting than 
anybody knew. The sunlight played over the ruins of weird 
castles and set his imagination on fire with an almost sacred 
flame. With eyes that saw beyond the material side of 
school life he marked the marching of ancient heroes and 
his ears caught the gentle tread of the fair court ladies who 
long before had run softly across those velvet lawns or found 
their lovers in sequestered, silvan bowers. To-day, if you turn 
to his tales, you can see the same things which lingered in 
his boyhood brain — bits of architecture, English landscapes, 
and the strange castles that so easily became the habitations 
for the still stranger creatures which a mature creative faculty 
later wrought. 

The family returned to Richmond in the summer of 1820. 
The lad was now given a schooling under two educated mas- 
ters. We have said that he was not greatly unlike his fel- 
lows. He was, perhaps, a bit neater, but this was owing 
to the influence of the Allan household, which meantime 
had become wealthy beyond the usual fortune of even the 
prosperous of that day. He was active to a large and com- 
mendable degree. Only once do we find him varying, the 
ordinary routine of daily life. It came with a visit into 
a companion's family circle. It was, like his own, a home 
of culture and the schoolmate's mother became his first 
boyhood's love. Let us promptly remember that Poe had 



INTRODUCTION 7 

no mother and that affection and emotion were his by birth- 
right. The companion's mother, Jane Stith Stanard, be- 
came Poe's "Helen" — obviously since the name "Jane" 
sounded inappropriate for such a gentle and lovable lady. 
To her he wrote one of his most delicate lyrics. The melan- 
choly which naturally followed the announcement of her 
death made a very certain impression upon his mind and 
heart and did much in shaping his later erratic career. 

Early Manhood. One might almost as readily choose 
for this heading, "Later Boyhood." Poe was ever the odd 
combination of man and boy. The year 1825 found him 
leaving Master William Burke's classical school. Here he 
had been carefully drilled by Master Clarke and later by 
Master Burke. The young man's departure was made that 
he might begin some special drill preparatory to entering, 
with greater ease, the newly established University of Vir- 
ginia. He matriculated as a student in this institution during 
the following February and completed the session. Though 
only in his seventeenth year, he brought from the Uni- 
versity high honors in the languages. Likewise he brought 
to Mr. Allan some disagreeable debts. That gentleman, 
who had been very careful of the young poet's wants and 
who now was financially far more able to dispense luxuries 
than ever before, did perhaps the wisest thing that occurred 
to his distressed mind. He decided that in his own counting- 
room he would train the prodigal for the necessary battle 
with life. He reasoned that the world was no place for a 
young man so careless with money. He proposed to make 
of young Poe a sort of financier. But the highly artistic 
young man did what was the natural thing for one of his 
temperament: he rebelled. Running away from that which 
proved distasteful, Poe soon found himself in Boston. Here, 
shortly after his arrival, he published, in 1827, his first volume 
of verse which he called Tamerlane and Other Poems. 

Neither wealth nor great recognition followed the publica- 
tion of this slender volume. For temporary support Poe 
turned to the army. For two years he served, and was a 
good soldier. We may readily believe that it was the display 
of the cavalier spirit which was so native to the old South. 



INTRODUCTION 

ugh sheer merit he rose to the rank of sergeant, exhibit- 
ing a certain degree of Byron's ambition to gain military 
standing. Perhaps desiring advancement in more rapid 
strides, he was given his release in order that he might enter 
Point Academy. 

Here again there was no romance, and the daily grind 
wore sadly upon his buoyant and youthful spirits. Once 
more he displayed the dominant boyish nature by giving 
vent to his disgust in an extended series of mischievous 
pranks. He constantly showed a large and growing disregard 
for the duties imposed by the authorities who considered them, 
almost sacred obligations. Because a military school takes no 
particular pains to overlook the faults of a genius, young Poe 
was given a trial and his dismissal followed. 

It is most interesting to read into these days a very human 
story, for surely the desire for gain, even if one must needs 
outwit his fellows, is entirely human. It happened that 
Poe's gift of writing had taken the turn of satirical thrusts 
at his teachers in the Academy. Upon announcing, therefore, 
a forthcoming volume of verse, he obtained subscriptions 
from many of his comrades who ever delighted in his humor- 
ous sallies. When the book was issued in 183 1, the embryonic 
soldiers displayed considerable disgust, for instead of the 
personal thrusts of satire which they had expected, the vol- 
ume contained such exquisite lyrics, as Lenore and To Helen. 

Two years later Poe gained a new literary prominence. 
This time he displayed a distinct gift in the making of prose 
tales. With a story called A Ms. Found in a Bottle he won 
an important literary competition, featured by one of the 
influential daily newspapers of that time. This early effort 
was not great as a realization but, rather, as a promise of 
later master works. Certainly it was indicative of his great 
genius which later found expression in the creation of the 
American short story. Furthermore, his success in this 
competition meant for him a new and important friendship. 
Of influential friends he was in sore need. John P. Kennedy, 
a judge in the contest, became interested in the young man 
who had evolved so strange a narrative. This interest and 
kindness were new factors in shaping the poet's career. To 
new friend Poe doubtless owed more than his young 



INTRODUCTION 9 

heart or head realized. Through Mr. Kennedy he obtained 
his first literary position — the editorship of The Southern 
Literary Messenger. This position he shared with the more 
experienced and puritanical Mr. Thomas W. White who had 
been in charge for some time. The new editor's ability was 
unquestioned but his convivial habits greatly tried the pa- 
tience of his partner. Even to-day one may hear, in and 
around Richmond, Virginia, many stories of the unfortunate 
and all too frequent imbibing of an editor-poet who did 
not know how to fight his worst enemy. These anecdotes 
of great disgraces, and many others that show a growing 
melancholy, have come down to us from reliable sources 
and were not creations of idle gossip. 

Mature Life. In the middle of the year 1836, Poe married 
his cousin Virginia Clemm, a very young girl. About this 
time he lost his position in Richmond and the two went to 
New York. The girl's mother went with them and aided 
the family finances by taking boarders. Poe believed it his 
duty to strive for a real recognition and his vigor and enthu- 
siasm were commendable. He believed in himself and antic- 
ipated prompt financial release by virtue of his efforts. 

In 1838 he went to Philadelphia and resided there for 
the six years following. Here he held two important editor- 
ships — that of The Gentleman s Magazine and Graham's. 
He was devoted to Virginia, his wife, and his work was ham- 
pered by a constant anxiety concerning her physical condition. 
A broken blood vessel caused her great suffering and his 
grief and sympathy found expression in the melancholy 
writing he produced at this time. His gloom heightened 
his morbid imagination, and the products of his pen, although 
marvelous in their structure and therefore widely studied 
to-day, show the ever increasing despair of his heart. 

The lure of the large publishing houses took him back 
to New York in 1844. The first position given him was one 
with The Evening Mirror. A little later he held a similar 
place on The Broadway Journal. Both were of brief duration. 
And now, working with even freshened zeal, he came in the 
year 1845 into the literary Promised Land and attained unto 
his highest art with the publication of The Raven, which ap- 



IO INTRODUCTION 

peared in a volume with other poems. Nor did his fame linger 
in his own country but swept across the Atlantic. 

But with the literary world now his by right of conquest — 
what a brilliant battle he had waged! — this poet and weaver 
of strange tales forgot the glory on his new day as he watched 
the relentless shadows creeping in upon him — dreary portents 
of an on-coming night. Virginia's life faded slowly away 
and the recognition, for which he had fought many years, 
was lost in the new and overwhelming sorrow. A man of 
intense passions, he battled as poorly with this personal 
loss as he had done with his thirst for liquor. 

Poe now faced the world utterly alone. Although the 
years with Virginia had been those of hardship and mad 
struggle to obtain literary rank and sufficient income to keep 
up a home, still they had been years of real happiness. With 
the old life gone, he needed sympathy more than ever before. 
His brain had been weakened and diseased. Certainly not 
at his best either morally or physically, he caused to be re- 
corded against him a quick succession of romantic ventures. 
Possibly the principal one was an endeavor to win again 
the affection of Mrs. Shelton w T hom he had considered his 
sweetheart years before. 

It is interesting to know that Poe was able to retain many 
valuable friendships even during the last miserable months 
of his life. He was promised a position, if he would straighten 
up. It is also stated that upon the same condition hung 
the possibility of a happy life with Mrs. Shelton. To aid 
in this double accomplishment a great host of loyal friends 
supported him in a lecturing venture which netted a large 
sum of money. 

Poe's death is still a mystery. It occurred October 7th, 
1849. At best, life could have meant only greater suffering, 
for there was nothing upon which to build a renewed physical 
and mental life, save a burned-out brain and the remnant 
of an old love. He had failed to conserve his physical ener- 
gies and the result was inevitable. 

Poe's life seems to contain little that is ennobling. Even 
his genius is a matter of considerable dispute among his 
critics. Yet, when all is recorded — both pro and con — there 
remains the stubborn fact that he wrought mightily during 



INTRODUCTION 1 1 

years when literary achievement was little more than a mi- 
rage. And we findin Edgar Allan Poe the type of self-reliance 
and determination that has ever and will ever mark the track 
of the ambitious young American. 

Poe as a Friend. To the reader who has puzzled over 
this character there is doubtless the recurring idea that 
Edgar Allan Poe had few friends. So eccentric, so nomadic, 
so sensitive, and so uncertain in his behavior — surely with 
great difficulty could he have retained close associates. Yet 
oddly enough he did. Some pitied him because of physical 
or moral weaknesses and became his true friends, although 
a poet is proverbially said to resent pity. Others recognized 
him as a genius, and his younger years in Richmond society 
were those of genuine popularity. His dependence is best 
shown at the death of Virginia, his wife. And Poe without 
friends would never have gained more than a passing renown. 
It was their loyalty that meant practically all his success. 
In return he rendered back a spirit of real appreciation. 

Poe as an Artist. Very little artistry is the voluntary 
product of the worker. The experienced student knows that 
to the artist who determines upon a fixed method of execution, 
there is an almost certain loss of effect. Rigid rules, kept 
ever before the eyes of the painter or poet, would surely 
harm the production of either. Poe probably worked with 
rapidity. Many of his best tyrics appear to be the work of 
skillful haste. He does with words what Whistler does with 
the strokes of a brush: he gives us an impression — vivid, 
lasting. He chooses to surround his poems and stories with 
what the short-story writer of to-day calls, "atmosphere." 
We say many of his tales seem fairly to "breathe" w T eirdness 
or mystery or melancholy. He was the real master of the 
more modern method of expression called, "suggestive writ- 
ing." Rather than give the facts, he delights in describing 
his characters or picturing his scenes by means of hints. 
Handled by a master writer these hints are as convincing 
as facts. 

Poe as a Model of Craftsmanship. In a practical sum- 
mary the question arises: Will a study of Poe's poems and 



1 1 INTRODUCTION 

stories assist one in becoming a better student of literature 
and a better writer of his mother tongue? 

For an answer -Yes. Study Poe's use of zvords. He is a 
master; more, a wizard. He knows word meanings and 
sounds better than any other American author. Study Poe's 
ralness of expression. His work is marked by grace and 
polish. Study Poe's picture making. He has no American 
rival in this art save Whitman. Study Poe's ingenuity. It 
is conceded to be without parallel in American literature. 
Study Poe's command of rhythm. After close study, see if 
you find superior rhythm in your favorite poet's best works. 
Study Poe's double meanings. He is symbolic, mystical, 
fascinating. 

Poe is worth all the study for which we can find time. 
He truly is a model of craftsmanship. With study will come 
admiration, and the natural outcome of study and admiration 
is what our learned professors term "scholarship." 



POEMS 

TO 

I saw thee on thy bridal day, 

When a burning blush came o'er thee, 

Though happiness around thee lay, 
The world all love before thee: 

And in thine eye a kindling light 5 

(Whatever it might be) 
Was all on Earth my aching sight 

Of Loveliness could see. 

That blush, perhaps, was maiden shame — 

As such it well may pass — 10 

Though its glow hath raised a fiercer flame 
In the breast ojf him, alas! 

Who saw thee on that bridal day, 

When that deep blush would come o'er thee, 
Though happiness around thee lay, 15 

The world all love before thee. 



TO THE RIVER 

Fair river! in thy bright, clear flow 

Of crystal, wandering water, 
Thou art an emblem of the glow 

Of beauty — the unhidden heart- 
The playful maziness of art 
In old Alberto's daughter; 

13 



14 TO HELEN 

But when within thy wave she looks — 
Which glistens then, and trembles — 

Why, then, the prettiest of brooks 

Her worshipper resembles; 

For in his heart, as in thy stream, 
Her image deeply lies — 

His heart which trembles at the beam 
Of her soul-searching eyes. 



TO HELEN 

Helen, thy beauty is to me 

Like those Nicaean barks of yore, 
That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, 

The weary, wayworn wanderer bore 

To his own native shore. 5 

On desperate seas long wont to roam, 

Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, 
Thy Naiad airs, have brought me home 

To the glory that was Greece 
And the grandeur that was Rome. 10 

Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche 

How statue-like I see thee stand, 

The agate lamp within thy hand! 
Ah, Psyche, from the regions which 

Are Holy Land! 15 



THE SLEEPER 

At midnight, in the month of June, 
I stand beneath the mystic moon. 
An opiate vapor, dewy, dim, 
Exhales from out her golden rim, 
And, softly dripping, drop by drop, 






THE SLEEPER 1 5 

Upon the quiet mountain-top, 

Steals drowsily and musically 

Into the universal valley. 

The rosemary nods upon the grave; 

The lily lolls upon the wave; 10 

Wrapping the fog about its breast, 

The ruin molders into rest; 

Looking like Lethe, w see! the lake 

A conscious slumber seems to take, 

And would not, for the world, awake. 15 

All beauty sleeps! — and lo! where lies 

Irene, with her destinies! 

Oh lady bright! can it be right, 

This window open to the night? 

The wanton airs, from the tree-top, 20 

Laughingly through the lattice drop; 

The bodiless airs, a wizard rout, 

Flit through thy chamber in and out, 

And wave the curtain canopy 

So fitfully, so fearfully, 25 

Above the closed and fringed lid 

'Neath which thy slumb'ring soul lies hid, 

That, o'er the floor and down the wall, 

Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall. 

Oh, lady dear, hast thou no fear? 30 

Why and what art thou dreaming here? 

Sure thou art come o'er far-off seas, 

A wonder to these garden trees! 

Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress! 

Strange, above all, thy length of tress, 35 

And this all solemn silentness! 

The lady sleeps. Oh, may her sleep, 
Which is enduring, so be deep! 

A superior » indicates a note at the end of the volume. 



16 THE SLEEPER 

Heaven have her in its sacred keep! 

This chamber changed for one more holy, 40 

This bed for one more melancholy, 

I pray to God that she may lie 

Forever with unopened eye, 

While the dim sheeted ghosts go by! 

My love, she sleeps. Oh, may her sleep, 45 

As it is lasting, so be deep! 

Soft may the worms about her creep! 

Far in the forest, dim and old, 

For her may some tall vault unfold — 

Some vault that oft hath flung its black 50 

And winged panels fluttering back, 

Triumphant, o'er the crested palls 

Of her grand family funerals — 

Some sepulcher, remote, alone, 

Against whose portal she hath thrown, 55 

In childhood, many an idle stone — 

Some tomb from out whose sounding door 

She ne'er shall force an echo more, 

Thrilling to think, poor child of sin, 

It was the dead who groaned within. 60 



LENORE 

Ah, broken is the golden bowl! n the spirit flown forever! 
Let the bell toll! — a saintly soul floats on the Stygian n river; 
And, Guy De Vere, hast thou no tear? — weep now or never 

more! 
See, on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore! 
Come, let the burial rite be read — the funeral song be sung: 5 
An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young, 
A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young. 

"Wretches, ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her 
pride, 



LENORE l J 

And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her — that she 

died! 
How shall the ritual, then, be read? the requiem how be 

sung 10 

By you — by yours, the evil eye, — by yours, the slanderous 

tongue 
That did to death the innocence that died, and died so 

young?" 

Peccavimns; n but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song 

Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong. 

The sweet Lenore hath gone before, with Hope that flew 

beside, 15 

Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been 

thy bride: 
For her, the fair and debonair, that now so lowly lies, 
The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes; 
The life still there, upon her hair — the death upon her eyes. 

"Avaunt! avaunt! from fiends below, the indignant ghost 
is riven — 20 

From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven — 
From grief and groan, to a golden throne, beside the King 

of Heaven! 
Let no bell toll, then, — lest her soul, amid its hallowed mirth, 
Should catch the note as it doth float up from the damned 

Earth! 
And I! — to-night my heart is light! — no dirge will I upraise,25 
But waft the angel on her flight with a paean of old days." 

THE VALLEY OF UNREST 

Once it smiled a silent dell 

Where the people did not dwell; 

They had gone unto the wars, 

Trusting to the mild-eyed stars, 

Nightly, from their azure towers, 5 



IS THE VALLEY OF UNREST 

To keep watch above the flowers, 

In the midst of which all day 

The red sunlight lazily lay. 

Now each visitor shall confess 

The sad valley's restlessness. 10 

Nothing there is motionless, 

Nothing save the airs that brood 

Over the magic solitude. 

Ah, by no wind are stirred those trees 

That palpitate like the chill seas 15 

Around the misty Hebrides! n 

Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven 

That rustle through the unquiet Heaven 

Uneasily, from morn till even, 

Over the violets there that lie 20 

In myriad types of the human eye, 

Over the lilies there that wave 

And weep above a nameless grave! 

They wave: — from out their fragrant tops 

Eternal dews come down in drops. 25 

They weep: — from off their delicate stems 

Perennial tears descend in gems. 

HYMN 

At morn — at noon — at twilight dim, 

Maria! thou hast heard my hymn. 

In joy and woe, in good and ill, 

Mother of God, be with me still! 

When the hours flew brightly by, 5 

And not a cloud obscured the sky, 

My soul, lest it should truant be, 

Thy grace did guide to thine and thee. 

Now, when storms of fate o'ercast 

Darkly my Present and my Past, 10 

Let my Future radiant shine 

With sweet hopes of thee and thine! 



TO ONE IN PARADISE 19 

TO ONE IN PARADISE 

Thou wast all that to me, love, 

For which my soul did pine — 
A green isle in the sea, love, 

A fountain and a shrine, 
All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers, 5 

And all the flowers were mine. 

Ah, dream too bright to last! 

Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise 
But to be overcast! 

A voice from out the Future cries, 10 

"On! on!"— but o'er the Past 

(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies 
Mute, motionless, aghast! 

For, alas! alas! with me 

The light of Life is o'er! 15 

"No more — no more — no more! — " 

(Such language holds the solemn sea 
To the sands upon the shore) 

Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree, 
Or the stricken eagle soar! 20 

And all my days are trances, 

And all my nightly dreams 
Are where thy dark eye glances, 

And where thy footstep gleams — 
In what ethereal dances, 25 

By what eternal streams. 

TO F 

Beloved! amid the earnest woes 

That crowd around my earthly path— 
(Drear path, alas! where grows 



TO Z.ANTE 

Not even one lonely rose) — - 

My soul at least a solace hath 5 

In dreams of thee, and therein knows 
An Eden of bland repose. 

And thus thy memory is to me 

Like some enchanted far-off isle 
In some tumultuous sea — 10 

Some ocean throbbing far and free 

With storms — but where meanwhile 
Serenest skies continually 
Just o'er that one bright island smile. 

TO ZANTE» 

Fair isle, that from the fairest of all flowers 

Thy gentlest of all gentle names dost take, 
How many memories of what radiant hours 

At sight of thee and thine at once awake! 
How many scenes of what departed bliss, 5 

How many thoughts of what entombed hopes, 
How many visions of a maiden that is 

No more n — no more upon thy verdant slopes! 
No more! alas, that magical sad sound 

Transforming all! Thy charms shall please no more, io 
Thy memory no more. Accursed ground! 

Henceforth I hold thy flower-enameled shore, 
hyacinthine isle! O purple Zante! 
"Isola d'oro! Fior di Levante!"" 

BRIDAL BALLAD 

The ring is on my hand, 

And the wreath is on my brow; 

Satins and jewels grand 

Are all at my command, 

And I am happy now. 5 



BRIDAL BALLAD 21 

And my lord he loves me well; 

But, when first he breathed his vow, 
I felt my bosom swell, 
For the words rang as a knell, 
And the voice seemed his who fell 10 

In the battle down the dell, 

And who is happy now. 

But he spoke to reassure me, 

And he kissed my pallid brow, 
While a reverie came o'er me, 15 

And to the churchyard bore me, 
And I sighed to him before me, 
Thinking him dead D'Elormie, 

"Oh, I am happy now!" 

And thus the words were spoken, 20 

And this the plighted vow; 
And, though my faith be broken, 
And, though my heart be broken, 
Behold the golden token 

That proves me happy now! 25 

Would God I could awaken! 

For I dream I know not how, 
And my soul is sorely shaken 
Lest an evil step be taken, — 
Lest the dead who is forsaken 30 

May not be happy now. 



THE CONQUEROR WORM 

Lo! 'tis a gala night 

Within the lonesome latter years. 
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight 

In veils, and drowned in tears, 



n THE CONQUEROR WORM 

Sit in a theater to see 5 

A play of hopes and fears, 
While the orchestra breathes fitfully 

The music of the spheres. 

Mimes," in the form of God on high, 

Mutter and mumble low, 10 

And hither and thither fly — 

Mere puppets they, who come and go 
At bidding of vast formless things n 

That shift the scenery to and fro, 
Flapping from out their condor wings 15 

Invisible Woe. 

That motley drama — oh, be sure 

It shall not be forgot! 
With its Phantom n chased for evermore 

By a crowd that seize it not, 20 

Through a circle that ever returneth in 

To the selfsame spot; 
And much of Madness, and more of Sin 

And Horror the soul of the plot. 

But see, amid the mimic rout 25 

A crawling shape intrude! 
A blood-red thing that writhes from out 

The scenic solitude! 
It writhes — it writhes! — with mortal pangs 

The mimes become its food, 30 

And seraphs sob at vermin fangs 

In human gore imbued. 

Out — out are the lights — out all! 

And, over each quivering form, 
The curtain, a funeral pall, 35 

Comes down with the rush of a storm, 



DREAMLAND 23 

While the angels, all pallid and wan, 

Uprising, unveiling, affirm 
That the play is the tragedy, "Man," 

And its hero, the Conqueror Worm. 40 



DREAMLAND 

By a route obscure and lonely, 

Haunted by ill angels only, 

Where an Eidolon," named Night, 

On a black throne reigns upright, 

I have reached these lands n but newly 5 

From an ultimate dim Thule: n 

From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime, 

Out of Space — out of Time. 
Bottomless vales and boundless floods, 
And chasms and caves and Titan woods, 10 

With forms that no man can discover 
For the tears that drip all over; 
Mountains toppling evermore 
Into seas without a shore; 

Seas that restlessly aspire, 15 

Surging, unto skies of fire; 
Lakes that endlessly outspread 
Their lone waters, lone and dead, — - 
Their still waters, still and chilly 
With the snows of the lolling lily. 20 

By the lakes that thus outspread 

Their lone waters, lone and dead, — 

Their sad waters, sad and chilly 

With the snows of the lolling lily; 

By the mountains — near the river 25 

Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever; 

By the gray woods, by the swamp 

Where the toad and the newt encamp; 



24 DREAMLAND 

By the dismal tarns and pools 

Where dwell the Ghouls; n 30 

By each spot the most unholy, 
In each nook most melancholy, — 
There the traveler meets aghast 
Sheeted Memories of the Past: 
Shrouded forms that start and sigh 35 

As they pass the wanderer by, 
White-robed forms of friends long given, 
In agony, to the Earth — and Heaven. 

For the heart whose woes are legion 

'Tis a peaceful, soothing region; 40 

For the spirit that walks in shadow 

Tis — oh, 'tis an Eldorado! n 

But the traveler, traveling through it, 

May not — dare not openly view it; 

Never its mysteries are exposed 45 

To the weak human eye unclosed; 

So wills its King, who hath forbid 

The uplifting of the fringed lid; 

And thus the sad Soul that here passes 

Beholds it but through darkened glasses. 50 

By a route obscure and lonely, 

Haunted by ill angels only, 

Where an Eidolon, named Night, 

On a black throne reigns upright, 

I have wandered home but newly 55 

From this ultimate dim Thule. 

THE RAVEN 

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and 

weary, 
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, — 
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a 

tapping, 



THE RAVEN 25 

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber 

door. 
"*Tis some visitor/' I muttered, "tapping at my chamber 

door: 5 

Only this and nothing more." 

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, 
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon 

the floor. 
Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had sought to borrow 
From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost 

Lenore, 10 

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name 

Lenore: 

Nameless here forevermore. 

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain 
Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; 
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood re- 
peating 15 
' 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door, 
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door: 
This it is and nothing more." 

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, 
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I im- 
plore; 20 
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, 
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber 

door, 
That I scarce was sure I heard you" — here I opened wide 
the door: — 

Darkness there and nothing more. 

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wonder- 
ing, fearing, 25 



26 THE RAVEN 

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream 

before; 
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, 
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, 

"Lenore?" 
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, 

"Lenore:" 

Merely this and nothing more. 30 

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, 
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. 
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window 

lattice; 
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore; 
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore: 35 
'Tis the wind and nothing more." 

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and 

flutter, 
In there stepped a stately Raven n of the saintly days of yore. 
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or 

stayed he; 
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber 

door, 40 

Perched upon a bust of Pallas n just above my chamber door: 
Perched, and sat, and nothing more. 

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling 
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, — 
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art 

sure no craven, 45 

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly 

shore: 
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian 

shore!" 

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 



THE RAVEN 27 

Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so 

plainly, 
Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore; 50 
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being 
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door, 
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber 

door, 

With such name as "Nevermore." 

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only 55 
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour, 
Nothing further then he uttered, not a feather then he flut- 
tered, 
Till I scarcely more than muttered, — "Other friends have 

flown before; 
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown 
before." 

Then the bird said, "Nevermore." 60 

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, 
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and 

store, 
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster 
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden 

bore: 
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore 65 
Of ' Never — nevermore.'" 

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling, 
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust 

and door; 
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking 
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore, 70 
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird 

of yore 

Meant in croaking "Nevermore." 



THE RAVEN 

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing 
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's 

core; 74 

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining 
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er, 
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating 

o'er 

She shall press, ah, nevermore! 

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an 

unseen censer 
Swung by seraphim n whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted 

floor. 80 

"Wretch,"* I cried, "thy God hath lent thee — by these 

angels he hath sent thee 
Respite — respite and nepenthe n from thy memories of Len- 

ore! 
QuafF, oh quaff* this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Len- 

ore!" 

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 

"Prophet!" n said I, "thing of evil! prophet still, if bird or 

devil! 85 

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here 

ashore, 
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted — 
On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore: 
Is there — is there balm in Gilead? w — tell me — tell me, I im- 
plore!" 

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 90 

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil — prophet still, if bird or 

devil! 
By that Heaven that bends above us, by that God we both 

adore, 
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, 



THE RAVEN 29 

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name 

Lenore: 
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name 

Lenore!" 95 

Quoth the Raven, " Nevermore." 

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, 

upstarting: 
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian 

shore! 
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath 

spoken! 
Leave my loneliness unbroken! quit the bust above my 

door! 100 

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from 

off my door!" 

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting 

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; 

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dream- 
ing, 105 

And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow 
on the floor; 

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on 
the floor 

Shall be lifted — nevermore. 



EULALIE 

I dwelt alone 
In a world of moan, 
And my soul was a stagnant tide, 
Till the fair and gentle Eulalie became my blushing bride, 
Till the yellow-haired young Eulalie became my smiling 
bride. 5 



50 EULALIE 

Ah, less — less bright 
The stars of the night 
Than the eyes of the radiant girl! 
And never a flake 

That the vapor can make io 

With the moon-tints of purple and pearl 
Can vie with the modest Eulalie's most unregarded curl, 
Can compare with the bright-eyed Eulalie's most humble and 
careless curl. 

Now doubt — now pain 

Come never again, 15 

For her soul gives me sigh for sigh; 
And all day long 
Shines, bright and strong, 
Astarte n w 7 ithin the sky, 
While ever to her dear Eulalie upturns her matron eye, 20 

\\ hile ever to her young Eulalie upturns her violet eye. 



ULALUME 

The skies they were ashen and sober; 

The leaves they were crisped and sere, 

The leaves they were withering and sere; 
It was night in the lonesome October 

Of my most immemorial year; 5 

It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, w 

In the misty mid region of Weir: n 
It was down by the dank tarn of Auber, 

In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. 

Here once, through an alley Titanic 10 

Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul — 

Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul. 
These were days when my heart was volcanic 

As the scoriae n rivers that roll, 

As the lavas that restlessly roll 15 



ULALUME 31 

Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek n 

In the ultimate climes of the pole, 
That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek 

In the realms of the boreal pole. 

Our talk had been serious and sober, 20 

But our thoughts they were palsied and sere, 
Our memories were treacherous and sere, 

For we knew not the month was October, 
And we marked not the night of the year, 
(Ah, night of all nights in the year!) 25 

We noted not the dim lake of Auber 

(Though once we had journeyed down here), 

Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber 
Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. 

And now, as the night was senescent 30 

And star-dials pointed to morn, 

As the star-dials hinted of morn, 
At the end of our path a liquescent 

And nebulous luster was born, 
Out of which a miraculous crescent 35 

Arose, with a duplicate horn, 
Astarte's n bediamonded crescent 

Distinct with its duplicate horn. 

And I said — "She is warmer than Dian n : 

She rolls through an ether of sighs — 40 

She revels in a region of sighs: 
She has seen that the tears are not dry en 

These cheeks, where the worm never dies, 
And has come past the stars of the Lion " 

To point us the path to the skies — 45 

To the Lethean n peace of the skies — 
Come up, in despite of the Lion, 

To shine on us with her bright eyes — 
Come up through the lair of the Lion, 

With love in her luminous eyes." 50 



32 U LAW ME 

But Psyche, uplifting her finger, 

Said — "Sadly this star I mistrust, 

Her pallor I strangely mistrust: 
Oh, hasten! — oh, let us not linger! 

Oh, fly! — let us fly! — for we must." 55 

In terror she spoke, letting sink her 

Wings until they trailed in the dust; 
In agony sobbed, letting sink her 

Plumes till they trailed in the dust, 

Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust. 60 

I replied — "This is nothing but dreaming: 

Let us on by this tremulous light! 

Let us bathe in this crystalline light! 
Its sibyllic n splendor is beaming 

With hope and in beauty to-night: 65 

See, it flickers up the sky through the night! 
Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming, 

And be sure it will lead us aright: 
We safely may trust to a gleaming 

That cannot but guide us aright, 70 

Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night. " 

Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her, 

And tempted her out of her gloom, 

And conquered her scruples and gloom; 
And we passed to the end of the vista, 75 

But were stopped by the door of a tomb, 

By the door of a legended tomb; 
And I said — "What is written, sweet sister, 

On the door of this legended tomb?" 

She replied — "Ulalume — Ulalurne — 80 

'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!" 

Then my heart it grew ashen and sober 
As the leaves that were crisped and sere, 
As the leaves that were withering and sere, 

And I cried — "It was surely October 85 



TO HELEN 33 

On this very night of last year 

That I journeyed — I journeyed down here, 

That I brought a dread burden down here: 

Cn this night of all nights in the year, 

Ah, what demon has tempted me here? 90 

Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber, 
This misty mid region of Weir: 

Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber, 
This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir." 



TO HELEN 

I saw thee once — once only — years ago: 

I must not say how many — but not many. 

It was a July midnight; and from out 

A full-orbed moon, that, like thine own soul, soaring, 

Sought a precipitate pathway up through heaven, 5 

There fell a silvery-silken veil of light, 

With quietude, and sultriness, and slumber, 

Upon the upturned faces of a thousand 

Roses that grew in an enchanted garden, 

Where no winds dared to stir, unless on tiptoe — 10 

Fell on the upturn'd faces of these roses 

That gave out, in return for the love-light, 

Their odorous souls in an ecstatic death — 

Fell on the upturned faces of these roses 

That smiled and died in this parterre, enchanted 15 

By thee, and by the poetry of thy presence. 

Clad all in white, upon a violet bank 

I saw thee half reclining; while the moon 

Fell on the upturned faces of the roses, 

And on thine own, upturn'd — alas, in sorrow! 20 

Was it not Fate, that, on this July midnight- 
Was it not Fate, (whose name is also Sorrow,) 



34 TO HELEN 

That bade me pause before that garden gate, 

To breathe the incense of those slumbering roses? 

No footsteps stirred: the hated world all slept, 25 

Save only thee and me. (Oh, Heaven! — oh, God! 

How my heart beats in coupling those two words!) 

Save only thee and me. I paused — I looked — 

And in an instant all things disappeared. 

(Ah, bear in mind this garden was enchanted!) 30 

The pearly luster of the moon went out: 

The mossy banks and the meandering paths, 

The happy flowers and the repining trees, 

Were seen no more: the very roses' odors 

Died in the arms of the adoring airs. 35 

All, all expired save thee — save less than thou: 

Save only the divine light in thine eyes, 

Save but the soul in thine uplifted eyes: 

I saw but them — they were the world to me: 

I saw but them, saw only them for hours, 40 

Saw only them until the moon went down. 

What wild heart-histories seem to lie enwritten 

Upon those crystalline, celestial spheres; 

How dark a woe, yet how sublime a hope; 

How silently serene a sea of pride; 45 

How daring an ambition; yet how deep, 

How fathomless a capacity for love! 

But now, at length, dear Dian sank from sight, 

Into a western couch of thundercloud; 

And thou, a ghost, amid the entombing trees 50 

Didst glide away. Only thine eyes remained: 

They would not go — they never yet have gone; 

Lighting my lonely pathway home that night, 

They have not left me (as my hopes have) since; 

They follow me — they lead me through the years; 55 

They are my ministers — yet I their slave; 

Their office is to illumine and enkindle — 



FOR ANNIE 35 

My duty, to be saved by their bright light, 

And purified in their electric fire, 

And sanctified in their elysian fire, 60 

They fill my soul with beauty (which is hope), 

And are, far up in Heaven, the stars I kneel to 

In the sad, silent watches of my night; 

While even in the meridian glare of day 

I see them still — two sweetly scintillant 65 

Venuses, unextinguished by the sun. 



FOR ANNIE 

Thank Heaven! the crisis, 

The danger, is past, 
And the lingering illness 

Is over at last — 
And the fever called "Living" 5 

Is conquered at last. 

Sadly I know 

J am shorn of my strength, 
And no muscle I move 

As I lie at full length — 10 

But no matter! — I feel 

I am better at length. 

And I rest so composedly 

Now, in my bed, 
That any beholder 15 

Might fancy me dead, 
Might start at beholding me, 

Thinking me dead. 

The moaning and groaning, 

The sighing and sobbing, 20 

Are quieted now, 



FOR ANNIE 

With that horrible throbbing 
At heart: — ah, that horrible, 
Horrible throbbing! 

The sickness, the nausea, 

The pitiless pain, 
Have ceased, with the fever 

That maddened my brain, 
With the fever called "Living" 

That burned in my brain. 

And oh! of all tortures, 

That torture the worst 
Has abated — the terrible 

Torture of thirst 
For the naphthaline n river 

Of Passion accurst: 
I have drank of a water 

That quenches all thirst: 

Of a water that flows, 
With a lullaby sound, 

From a spring but a very few 
Feet under ground, 

From a cavern not very far 
Down under ground. 

And ah! let it never 

Be foolishly said 
That my room it is gloomy, 

And narrow my bed; 
For man never slept 

In a different bed: 
And, to sleep, you must slumber 

In just such a bed. 



FOR ANNIE 37 

My tantalized spirit 

Here blandly reposes, 
Forgetting, or never 55 

Regretting, its roses: 
Its old agitations 

Of myrtles n and roses; n 

For now, while so quietly 

Lying, it fancies 60 

A holier odor 

About it, of pansies: n 
A rosemary n odor, 

Commingled with pansies, 
With rue n and the beautiful 65 

Puritan pansies. 

And so it lies happily, 

Bathing in many 
A dream of the truth 

And the beauty of Annie, 70 

Drowned in a bath 

Of the tresses of Annie. 

She tenderly kissed me, 

She fondly caressed, 
And then I fell gently 75 

To sleep on her breast — 
Deeply to sleep 

From the heaven of her breast. 

When the light was extinguished, 

She covered me warm, 80 

And she prayed to the angels 

To keep me from harm — 
To the queen of the angels 

To shield me from harm. 



jS THE BELLS 

And I lie so composedly, 85 

Now, in my bed, 
(Knowing her love) 

That you fancy me dead — 
And I rest so contentedly 

Now, in my bed, 90 

(With her love at my breast) 

That you fancy me dead — 
That you shudder to look at me, 

Thinking me dead: 

But my heart it is brighter 95 

Than all of the many 
Stars in the sky, 

For it sparkles with Annie — 
It glows with the light 

Of the love of my Annie — 100 

With the thought of the light 

Of the eyes of my Annie. 

THE BELLS 

1 
Hear the sledges with the bells, 
Silver bells! 
What a world of merriment their melody foretells! 
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, 
In the icy air of night! 5 

While the stars that oversprinkle 
All the heavens seem to twinkle 

With a crystalline delight; 
Keeping time, time, time, 

In a sort of Runic n rime, 10 

To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells 
From the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
Bells, bells, bells — 
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. 






THE BELLS 39 

II 
Hear the mellow wedding bells — 15 

Golden bells! 
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells! 
Through the balmy air of night 
How they ring out their delight! 

From the molten-golden notes, 20 

And all in tune, 
What a liquid ditty floats 
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats 
On the moon! 
Oh, from out the sounding cells, 25 

What a gush of euphony voluminously wells! 
How it swells! 
How it dwells 
On the Future! how it tells 

Of the rapture that impels 30 

To the swinging and the ringing 
Of the bells, bells, bells, 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
Bells, bells, bells — 
To the riming and the chiming of the bells! 35 

in 
Hear the loud alarum bells — 
Brazen bells! 
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells! 
In the startled ear of night 

How they scream out their affright! 40 

Too much horrified to speak, 
They can only shriek, shriek, 
Out of tune, 
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, 
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire, 45 
Leaping higher, higher, higher, 
With a desperate desire, 



40 THE BELLS 

And a resolute endeavor 
Now — now to sit or never, 
By the side of the pale-faced moon. 50 

Oh, the bells, bells, bells! 
What a tale their terror tells 
Of Despair! 
How they clang, and clash, and roar! 
What a horror they outpour 55 

On the bosom of the palpitating air! 
Yet the ear it fully knows, 
By the twanging 
And the clanging, 
How the danger ebbs and flows; 60 

Yet the ear distinctly tells, 
In the jangling 
And the wrangling, 
How the danger sinks and swells, — 
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells, 65 
Of the bells, 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
Bells, bells, bells — 
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells! 

iv 

Hear the tolling of the bells, 70 

Iron bells! 
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels! 
In the silence of the night 
How we shiver with affright 
At the melancholy menace of their tone! 75 

For every sound that floats 
From the rust within their throats 

Is a groan. 
And the people — ah, the people, 
They that dwell up in the steeple, 80 

All alone, 



THE BELLS 4 1 

And who tolling, tolling, tolling 
In that muffled monotone, 
Feel a glory in so rolling 

On the human heart a stone — 85 

They are neither man nor woman, 
They are neither brute nor human, 
They are Ghouls: 
And their king it is who tolls; 
And he rolls, rolls, rolls, 90 

Rolls 
A paean from the bells; 
And his merry bosom swells 
With the paean of the bells, 

And he dances, and he yells: 95 

Keeping time, time, time, 
In a sort of Runic rime, 
To the paean of the bells, 
Of the bells: 
Keeping time, time, time, 1 co- 

in a sort of Runic rime, 

To the throbbing of the bells, 
Of the bells, bells, bells — 
To the sobbing of the bells; 
Keeping time, time, time, 105 

As he knells, knells, knells, 
In a happy Runic rime, 

To the rolling of the bells — 
Of the bells, bells, bells, — 

To the tolling of the bells — no 

Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
Bells, bells, bells — 
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. 



42 ANNABEL LEE 



ANNABEL LEE 



It was many and many a year ago, 

In a kingdom by the sea, 
That a maiden there lived whom you may know 

By the name of Annabel Lee; 
And this maiden she lived with no other thought 5 

Than to love and be loved by me. 

I was a child and she was a child, 

In this kingdom by the sea, 
But we loved with a love that was more than love, 

I and my Annabel Lee; 10 

With a love that the w T inged seraphs of heaven 

Coveted her and me. 

And this was the reason that, long ago, 

In this kingdom by the sea, 
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling 15 

My beautiful Annabel Lee; 
So that her highborn kinsmen came 

And bore her away from me, 
To shut her up in a sepulcher 

In this kingdom by the sea. 20 

The angels, not half so happy in heaven, 

Went envying her and me; 
Yes! that was the reason (as all men know, 

In this kingdom by the sea) 
That the wind came out of the cloud by night, 25 

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. 

But our love it was stronger by far than the love 

Of those who were older than we, 

Of many far wiser than we; 
And neither the angels in heaven above, 30 



TO MY MOTHER 43 

Nor the demons down under the sea, 
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul 
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee: 

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; 35 

And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; 
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side 
Of my darling — my darling — my life and my bride, 

In her sepulcher there by the sea, 40 

In her tomb by the sounding sea. 



TO MY MOTHER 

Because I feel that, in the Heavens above, 

The angels, whispering to one another, 
Can find, among their burning terms of love, 

None so devotional as that of "Mother," 
Therefore by that dear name I long have called you — 5 

You who are more than mother unto me, 
And fill my heart of hearts where death installed you, 

In setting my Virginia's spirit free. 
My mother — my own mother, who died early, 
Was but the mother of myself; but you 10 

Are mother to the one I love so dearly, 

And thus are dearer than the mother I knew 
By that infinity with which my wife 

Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life. 



ELDORADO 

Gaily bedight, 
A gallant knight, 
In sunshine and in shadow, 



44 ELDORADO 

Had journeyed long, 
Singing a song, 
In search of Eldorado. 



But he grew old — 

This knight so bold — 
And o'er his heart a shadow 

Fell as he found 10 

No spot of ground 
That looked like Eldorado. 

And, as his strength 

Failed him at length, 
He met a pilgrim shadow — 15 

"Shadow," said he, 

"Where can it be — 
This land of Eldorado?'* 

"Over the Mountains 

Of the Moon, 20 

Down the Valley of the Shadow, 

Ride, boldly ride," 

The shade replied, — 
"If you seek for Eldorado!" 



TALES 

THE ASSIGNATION 

Stay for me there! I will not fail 
To meet thee in that hollow vale. 
Henry King, Bishop of Chichester: The Exequy. 

Ill-fated and mysterious man! bewildered in the brilliancy 
of thine own imagination, and fallen in the flames of thine 
own youth! Again in fancy I behold thee! Once more 
thy form hath risen before me! — not — oh, not as thou art — 
in the cold valley and shadow — but as thou shouldst be — 
squandering away a life of magnificent meditation in that 
city of dim visions, thine own Venice — which is a star-beloved 
Elysium of the sea, and the wide windows of whose Palladian 
palaces look down with a deep and bitter meaning upon the 
secrets of her silent waters. Yes! I repeat it — as thou 
shouldst be. There are surely other worlds than this: other 
thoughts than the thoughts of the multitude, other specula- 
tions than the speculations of the sophist. Who then shall 
call thy conduct into question? who blame thee for thy 
visionary hours, or denounce those occupations as a wasting 
away of life, which were but the overflowings of thine ever- 
lasting energies? 

It was at Venice, beneath the covered archway there 
called the Ponte di Sospiri, that I met for the third or fourth 
time the person of whom I speak. It is with a confused 
recollection that I bring to mind the circumstances of that 
meeting. Yet I remember — ah! how should I forget? — the 
deep midnight, the Bridge of Sighs, the beauty of woman, 
and the Genius of Romance that stalked up and down the 
narrow canal. 

45 



46 THE ASSIGNATION 

It was a night of unusual gloom. The great clock of the 
Piazza had sounded the fifth hour of the Italian evening. 
The square of the Campanile lay silent and deserted, and the 
lights in the old Ducal Palace were dying fast away. I was 
returning home from the Piazzetta, by way of the Grand 
Canal. But as my gondola arrived opposite the mouth of 
the canal San Marco, a female voice from its recesses broke 
suddenly upon the night, in one wild, hysterical, and long- 
continued shriek. Startled at the sound, I sprang upon my 
feet, while the gondolier, letting slip his single oar, lost it 
in the pitchy darkness beyond a chance of recovery, and we 
were consequently left to the guidance of the current which 
here sets from the greater into the smaller channel. Like 
some huge and sable-feathered condor, we were slowly drift- 
ing down towards the Bridge of Sighs, when a thousand 
flambeaus flashing from the windows, and down the staircases 
of the Ducal Palace, turned all at once that deep gloom into 
a livid and preternatural day. 

A child, slipping from the arms of its own mother, had 
fallen from an upper window of the lofty structure into the 
deep and dim canal. The quiet waters had closed placidly 
over their victim; and, although my own gondola was the 
only one in sight, many a stout swimmer, already in the 
stream, was seeking in vain upon the surface the treasure 
which was to be found, alas! only within the abyss. Upon 
the broad black marble flagstones at the entranceof the palace 
and a few steps above the water, stood a figure which none 
who then saw can have ever since forgotten. It was the 
Marchesa Aphrodite — the adoration of all Venice — the gay- 
est of the gay — the most lovely where all were beautiful — ■ 
but still the young wife of the old and intriguing Mentoni, 
and the mother of that fair child, her first and only one, 
who now, deep beneath the murky water, was thinking in 
bitterness of heart upon her sweet caresses, and exhausting 
its little life in struggles to call upon her name. 

She stood alone. Her small, bare, and silvery feet gleamed 



THE ASSIGNATION 47 

in the black mirror of marble beneath her. Her hair, not as 
yet more than half loosened for the night from its ballroom 
array, clustered, amid a shower of diamonds, round and 
round her classical head, in curls like those of the young 
hyacinth. A snowy-white and gauze-like drapery seemed 
to be nearly the sole covering to her delicate form; but the 
midsummer and midnight air was hot, sullen, and still, and 
no motion in the statue-like form itself stirred even the folds 
of that raiment of very vapor which hung around it as the 
heavy marble hangs around the Niobe. Yet, strange to say, 
her large lustrous eyes were not turned downwards upon 
that grave wherein her brightest hope lay buried — but riveted 
in a widely different direction! The prison of the Old Re- 
public, is, I think, the stateliest building in all Venice, but 
how could that lady gaze so fixedly upon it, when beneath 
her lay stifling her only child? Yon dark, gloomy niche, too, 
yawns right opposite her chamber window — what, then, 
could there be in its shadows, in its architecture, in its ivy- 
wreathed and solemn cornices, that the Marchesa di Mentoni 
had not wondered at a thousand times before? Nonsense! 
Who does not remember that, at such a time as this, the 
eye, like a shattered mirror, multiplies the images of its 
sorrow, and sees in innumerable far-off places the woe which 
is close at hand? 

Many steps above the Marchesa, and within the arch of 
the water gate, stood, in full dress, the satyr-like figure of 
Mentoni himself. He was occasionally occupied in thrum- 
ming a guitar, and seemed ennuye to the very death as at 
intervals he gave directions for the recovery of his child. 
Stupefied and aghast, I had myself no power to move from 
the upright position I had assumed upon first hearing the 
shriek, and must have presented to the eyes of the agitated 
group a spectral and ominous appearance, as with pale 
countenance and rigid limbs I floated down among them in 
that funereal gondola. 

All efforts proved in vain. Many of the most energetic 



4S THE ASSIGNATION 

in the search were relaxing their exertions, and yielding to a 
gloomy sorrow. There seemed but little hope for the child 
(how much less then for the mother!); but now, from the 
interior of that dark niche which has been already mentioned 
as forming a part of the Old Republican prison, and as front- 
ing the lattice of the Marchesa, a figure muffled in a cloak 
stepped out within reach of the light, and, pausing a moment 
upon the verge of the giddy descent, plunged headlong into 
the canal. As in an instant afterwards he stood, with the still 
living and breathing child within his grasp, upon the marble 
flagstones by the side of the Marchesa, his cloak, heavy with 
the drenching water, became unfastened, and, falling in 
folds about his feet, discovered to the wonder-stricken specta- 
tors the graceful person of a very young man, with the sound 
of whose name the greater part of Europe was then ringing. 

No word spoke the deliverer. But the Marchesa! She 
will now receive her child — she will press it to her heart — she 
will cling to its little form, and smother it with her caresses. 
Alas! another s arms have taken it from the stranger — 
another s arms have taken it away and borne it afar off, 
unnoticed, into the palace! And the Marchesa! Her lip — 
her beautiful lip trembles; tears are gathering in her eyes- 
those eyes which, like Pliny's acanthus, are "soft and almost 
liquid." Yes, tears are gathering in those eyes — and see! 
the entire woman thrills throughout the soul, and the statue 
has started into life! The pallor of the marble countenance, 
the swelling of the marble bosom, the very purity of the 
marble feet, we behold suddenly flushed over with a tide of 
ungovernable crimson; and a slight shudder quivers about 
her delicate frame, as a gentle air at Napoli about the rich 
silver lilies in the grass. 

Why should that lady blush? To this demand there is no 
answer — except that, having left, in the eager haste and 
terror of a mother's heart, the privacy of her own boudoir, 
she has neglected to enthrall her tiny feet in their slippers, 
and utterly forgotten to throw over her Venetian shoulders 



THE ASSIGNATION 49 

that drapery which is their due. What other possible reason 
could there have been for her so blushing? — for the glance of 
those wild appealing eyes? for the unusual tumult of that 
throbbing bosom? for the convulsive pressure of that trem- 
bling hand — that hand which fell, as Mentoni turned into 
the palace, accidentally upon the hand of the stranger? 
What reason could there have been for the low — the singu- 
larly low tone of those unmeaning words which the lady 
uttered hurriedly in bidding him adieu? "Thou hast con- 
quered," she said, or the murmurs of the water deceived 
me; "thou hast conquered — one hour after sunrise — we shall 
meet — so let it be!" 



The tumult had subsided, the lights had died away within 
the palace, and the stranger, whom I now recognized, stood 
alone upon the flags. He shook with inconceivable agitation, 
and his eye glanced around in search of a gondola. I could 
not do less than offer him the service of my own; and he ac- 
cepted the civility. Having obtained an oar at the water 
gate, we proceeded together to his residence, while he rapidly 
recovered his self-possession, and spoke of our former slight 
acquaintance in terms of great apparent cordiality. 

There are some subjects upon which I take pleasure in 
being minute. The person of the stranger — let me call him by 
this title, who to all the world was still a stranger — the person 
of the stranger is one of these subjects. In height he might 
have been below rather than above the medium size; al- 
though there were moments of intense passion when his frame 
actually expanded and belied the assertion. The light, almost 
slender, symmetry of his figure promised more of that ready 
activity which he evinced at the Bridge of Sighs, than of 
that Herculean strength which he has been known to wield 
without an effort, upon occasions of more dangerous emer- 
gency. With the mouth and chin of a deity — singular, wild, 
full, liquid eyes, whose shadows varied from pure hazel to 



so THE ASSIGNATION 

intense and brilliant jet — and a profusion of curling, black 
hair, from which a forehead of unusual breadth gleamed forth 
at intervals all light and ivory — his were features than which 
I have seen none more classically regular, except, perhaps, 
the marble ones of the Emperor Commodus. Yet his coun- 
tenance was, nevertheless, one of those which all men have 
seen at some period of their lives, and have never afterwards 
seen again. It had no peculiar — it had no settled predomi- 
nant expression to be fastened upon the memory; a coun- 
tenance seen and instantly forgotten, but forgotten with 
a vague and never-ceasing desire of recalling it to mind. 
Not that the spirit of each rapid passion failed, at any time, 
to throw its own distinct image upon the mirror of that face; 
but that the mirror, mirror-like, retained no vestige of the 
passion, w T hen the passion had departed. 

Upon leaving him on the night of our adventure, he solic- 
ited me, in what I thought an urgent manner, to call upon 
him very early the next morning. Shortly after sunrise I 
found myself accordingly at his Palazzo, one of those huge 
structures of gloomy, yet fantastic pomp, which tower above 
the waters of the Grand Canal in the vicinity of the Rialto. 
I was shown up a broad winding staircase of mosaics into an 
apartment whose unparalleled splendor burst through the 
opening door with an actual glare, making me blind and dizzy 
with luxuriousness. 

I knew my acquaintance to be wealthy. Report had spoken 
of his possessions in terms which I had even ventured to 
call terms of ridiculous exaggeration. But as I gazed about 
me, I could not bring myself to believe that the wealth of 
any subject in Europe could have supplied the princely 
magnificence which burned and blazed around. 

Although, as I say, the sun had arisen, yet the room was 
still brilliantly lighted up. I judged from this circumstance, 
as well as from an air of exhaustion in the countenance of 
my friend, that he had not retired to bed during the whole 
of the preceding night. In the architecture and embellish-i 



THE ASSIGNATION 5 1 

ments of the chamber the evident design had been to dazzle 
and astound. Little attention had been paid to the decora 
of what is technically called keeping, or to the proprieties 
of nationality. The eye wandered from object to object, and 
rested upon none — neither the grotesques of the Greek paint- 
ers, nor the sculptures of the best Italian days, nor the huge 
carvings of untutored Egypt. Rich draperies in every part 
of the room trembled to the vibration of low, melancholy 
music, whose origin was not to be discovered. The senses 
were oppressed by mingled and conflicting perfumes, reeking 
up from strange convolute censers, together with multitudi- 
nous flaring and flickering tongues of emerald and violet fire. 
The rays of the newly risen sun poured in upon the whole, 
through windows, formed each of a single pane of crimson- 
tinted glass. Glancing to and fro in a thousand reflections, 
from curtains which rolled from their cornices like cataracts 
of molten silver, the beams of natural glory mingled at length 
fitfully with the artificial light, and lay weltering in subdued 
masses upon a carpet of rich, liquid-looking cloth of Chile 
gold. 

"Ha! ha! ha! — ha! ha! ha!" — laughed the proprietor, 
motioning me to a seat as I entered the room, and throwing 
himself back at full length upon an ottoman. "I see," said 
he, perceiving that I could not immediately reconcile myself 
to the bienseance of so singular a welcome — "I see you are 
astonished at my apartment — at my statues — my pictures — 
my originality of conception in architecture and upholstery! 
absolutely drunk, eh, with my magnificence? But pardon 
me, my dear sir" (here his tone of voice dropped to the very 
spirit of cordiality), "pardon me for my uncharitable laughter. 
You appeared so utterly astonished. Besides, some things are 
so completely ludicrous that a man must laugh, or die. To 
die laughing must be the most glorious of all glorious deaths! 
Sir Thomas More n — a very fine man was Sir Thomas More — 
Sir Thomas More died laughing, you remember. Also in the 
Absurdities of Ravisius Textor there is a long list of charac- 



52 THE ASSIGNATION 

ters who came to the same magnificent end. Do you know, 
however," continued he, musingly, "that at Sparta — which 
is now Palaeochori — at Sparta, I say, to the west of the cita- 
del, among a chaos of scarcely visible ruins, is a kind of socle 
upon which are still legible the letters AA2M. They are 
undoubtedly part of TEAA2MA. 1 Now, at Sparta were a 
thousand temples and shrines to a thousand different divini- 
ties. How exceedingly strange that the altar of Laughter 
should have survived all the others! But in the present 
instance," he resumed, with a singular alteration of voice 
and manner, "I have no right to be merry at your expense. 
You might well have been amazed. Europe cannot produce 
anything so fine as this, my little regal cabinet. My other 
apartments are by no means of the same order — mere ultras 
of fashionable insipidity. This is better than fashion, is it 
not? Yet this has but to be seen to become the rage — that 
is, with those who could afford it at the cost of their entire 
patrimony. I have guarded, however, against any such 
profanation. With one exception you are the only human 
being, besides myself and my valet, w T ho has been, admitted 
within the mysteries of these imperial precincts, since they 
have been bedizened as you see!" 

I bowed in acknowledgment: for the overpowering sense 
of splendor and perfume and music, together with the un- 
expected eccentricity of his address and manner, prevented 
me from expressing, in words, my appreciation of what I 
might have construed into a compliment. 

"Here," he resumed, arising and leaning on my arm as 
he sauntered around the apartment, — "here are paintings 
from the Greeks to Cimabue, w and from Cimabue to the 
present hour. Many are chosen, as you see, with little def- 
erence to the opinions of Virtu. They are all, however, fitting 
tapestry for a chamber such as this. Here, too, are some 
chefs (Tceuvre 2 of the unknown great; and here, unfinished 
designs by men, celebrated in their day, whose very names 
1 Laughter. 2 Principal works. 



THE ASSIGNATION 53 

the perspicacity of the academies has left to silence and to 
me. What think you," said he, turning abruptly as he spoke 
— "what think you of this Madonna della Pieta?" 

"It is Guido's n own!" I said, with all the enthusiasm of 
my nature, for I had been poring intently over its surpassing 
loveliness. "It is Guido's own! — how could you have ob- 
tained it? she is undoubtedly in painting what the Venus is 
in sculpture." 

"Ha!" said he, thoughtfully, "the Venus — the beautiful 
Venus? — the Venus of the Medici? — she of the diminutive 
head and the gilded hair? Part of the left arm," (here his 
voice dropped so as to be heard with difficulty) "and all 
the right, are restorations; and in the coquetry of that right 
arm lies, I think, the quintessence of all affectation. Give me 
the Canova! w The Apollo, too, is a copy — there can be no 
doubt of it — blind fool that I am, who cannot behold the 
boasted inspiration of the Apollo ! I cannot help — pity me ! — 
I cannot help preferring the Antinous. Was it not Socrates 1 
who said that the statuary found his statue in the block of 
marble? Then Michelangelo 2 was by no means original in 
his couplet — 

'Non ha l'ottimo artista alcun concetto 

Che un marmo solo in se non circonscriva.'" n 

It has been or should be remarked that, in the manner of 
the true gentleman, we are always aware of a difference 
from the bearing of the vulgar, without being at once pre- 
cisely able to determine in what such difference consists. 
Allowing the remark to have applied in its full force to the 
outward demeanor of my acquaintance, I felt it, on that 
eventful morning, still more fully applicable to his moral 
temperament and character. Nor can I better define that 
peculiarity of spirit which seemed to place him so essentially 
apart from all other human beings, than by calling it a habit 
of intense and continual thought, pervading even his most 

1 A famous Greek philosopher. 2 The best known Italian sculptor. 



54 THE ASSIGNATION 

trivial actions, intruding upon his moments of dalliance, 
and interweaving itself with his very flashes of merriment, 
like adders which writhe from out the eyes of the grinning 
masks in the cornices around the temples of Persepolis. 1 

I could not help, however, repeatedly observing, through 
the mingled tone of levity and solemnity w T ith which he 
rapidly descanted upon matters of little importance, a cer- 
tain air of trepidation — a degree of nervous unction in action 
and in speech — an unquiet excitability of manner which ap- 
peared to me at all times unaccountable, and upon some occa- 
sions even filled me with alarm. Frequently, too, pausing in 
the middle of a sentence whose commencement he had appar- 
ently forgotten, he seemed to be listening in the deepest atten- 
tion, as if either in momentary expectation of a visitor, or to 
sounds which must have had existence in his imagination alone. 

It was during one of these reveries or pauses of apparent 
abstraction, that, in turning over a page of the poet and 
scholar Politian's n beautiful tragedy, the Orfeo (the first na- 
tive Italian tragedy), which lay near me upon an ottoman, 
I discovered a passage underlined in pencil. It was a passage 
towards the end of the third act — a passage of the most 
heart-stirring excitement — a passage which, although tainted 
with impurity, no man shall read without a thrill of novel 
emotion, no woman without a sigh. The whole page was 
blotted with fresh tears; and upon the opposite interleaf 
were the following English lines, written in a hand so very 
different from the peculiar characters of my acquaintance 
that I had some difficulty in recognizing it as his own: — 

Thou wast all that to me, love, 

For which my soul did pine: 
A green isle in the sea, love, 

A fountain and a shrine 
All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers, 

And all the flowers were mine. 
1 Capital of ancient Persia. 



THE ASSIGNATION 55 

Ah, dream too bright to last! 

Ah, starry Hope, that didst arise 
But to be overcast! 

A voice from out the Future cries, 
"On! On!"— but o'er the Past 

(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies 
Mute — motionless — aghast. 

For alas! alas! with me 

The light of Life is o'er. 

"No more — no more — no more;" — 
(Such language holds the solemn sea 

To the sands upon the shore) 
Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree, 

Or the stricken eagle soar. 

Now all my hours are trances, 

And all my nightly dreams 
Are where thy gray eye glances, 

And where thy footstep gleams, 
In what ethereal dances, 

By what Italian streams. 

Alas! for that accursed time 

They bore thee o'er the billow, 
From Love to titled age and crime, 

And an unholy pillow: 
From me, and from our misty clime 

Where weeps the silver willow. 

That these lines were written in English, a language with 
which I had not believed their author acquainted, afforded 
me little matter for surrjrise. I was too well aware of the 
extent of his acquirements, and of the singular pleasure 
he took in concealing them from observation, to be astonished 



56 THE ASSIGNATION 

at any similar discovery; but the place of date, I must con- 
fess, occasioned me no little amazement. It had been origi- 
nally written London, and afterwards carefully overscored — 
not, however, so effectually as to conceal the word from a 
scrutinizing eye. I say, this occasioned me no little amaze- 
ment; for I well remember that, in a former conversation 
with my friend, I particularly inquired if he had at any 
time met in London the Marchesa di Mentoni (who for some 
years previous to her marriage had resided in that city), 
when his answer, if I mistake not, gave me to understand 
that he had never visited the metropolis of Great Britain. 
I might as well here mention that I have more than once heard 
(without, of course, giving credit to a report involving so 
many improbabilities), that the person of whom I speak was 
not only by birth, but in education, an Englishman. 

" There is one painting," said he, without being aware of 
my notice of the tragedy — "there is still one painting which 
you have not seen." And throwing aside a drapery, he dis- 
covered a full-length portrait of the Marchesa Aphrodite. 

Human art could have done no more in the delineation 
of her superhuman beauty. The same ethereal figure which 
stood before me the preceding night, upon the steps of 
the Ducal Palace, stood before me once again. But in 
the expression of the countenance, which was beaming all 
over with smiles, there still lurked (incomprehensible anom- 
aly!) that fitful stain of melancholy which will ever be found 
inseparable from the perfection of the beautiful. Her right 
arm lay folded over her bosom. With her left she pointed 
downward to a curiously fashioned vase. One small, fairy 
foot, alone visible, barely touched the earth; and, scarcely 
discernible in the brilliant atmosphere which seemed to en- 
circle and enshrine her loveliness, floated a pair of the most 
delicately imagined wings. My glance fell from the paint- 
ing to the figure of my friend, and the vigorous words of 



THE ASSIGNATION 57 

Chapman's Bussy D'Ambois quivered instinctively upon 
my lips: — 

"I am up 

Here like a Roman statue; I will stand 

Till death hath made me marble!" 

"Come," he said at length, turning towards a table of 
richly enameled and massive silver, upon which were a 
few goblets fantastically stained, together with two large 
Etruscan vases, fashioned in the same extraordinary model 
as that in the foreground of the portrait, and filled with what 
I supposed to be Johannisberger. "Come," he said abruptly, 
"let us drink! It is*early — but let us drink. It is indeed 
early," he continued musingly, as a cherub with a heavy 
golden hammer made the apartment ring with the first 
hour after sunrise: "it is indeed early : — but what matters it? 
let us drink! Let us pour out an offering to yon solemn sun 
which these gaudy lamps and censers are so eager to subdue!" 
And, having made me pledge him in a bumper, he swallowed 
in rapid succession several goblets of the wine. 

"To dream," he continued, resuming the tone of his des- 
ultory conversation, as he held up to the rich light of a cen- 
ser one of the magnificent vases — "to dream has been the 
business of my life. I have therefore framed for myself, 
as you see, a bower of dreams. In the heart of Venice could 
I have erected a better? You behold around you, it is true, 
a medley of architectural embellishments. The chastity of 
Ionia is offended by antediluvian devices, and the sphinxes 
of Egypt are outstretched upon carpets of gold. Yet the 
effect is incongruous to the timid alone. Proprieties of place, 
and especially of time, are the bugbears which terrify man- 
kind from the contemplation of the magnificent. Once I 
was myself a decorist; but that sublimation of folly has palled 
upon my soul. All this is now the fitter for my purpose. 
Like these arabesque censers, my spirit is writhing in fire, 
and the delirium of this scene is fashioning me for the wilder 



58 THE ASSIGNATION 

visions of that land of real dreams whither I am now rapidly- 
departing. " He here paused abruptly, bent his head to his 
bosom, and seemed to listen to a sound which I could not 
hear. At length, erecting his frame, he looked upwards, and 
ejaculated the lines of the Bishop of Chichester: — 

" Stay for me there! I will not fail 
To meet thee in that hollow vale" 

In the next instant, confessing the power of the wine, he 
threw himself at full length upon an ottoman. 

A quick step was now heard upon the staircase, and a 
loud knock at the door rapidly succeeded. I was hastening 
to anticipate a second disturbance, whdh a page of Mentoni's 
household burst into the room, and faltered out, in a voice 
choking with emotion, the incoherent words, "My mistress! — 
my mistress! — Poisoned! — poisoned! Oh, beautiful — oh, 
beautiful Aphrodite!" 

Bewildered, I flew to the ottoman, and endeavored to 
arouse the sleeper to a sense of the startling intelligence. 
But his limbs were rigid — his lips were livid — his lately 
beaming eyes were riveted in death. I staggered back towards 
the table — my hand fell upon a cracked and blackened gob- 
let — and a consciousness of the entire and terrible truth 
flashed suddenly over my soul. 



THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 

Son coeur est un luth suspendu; 
Sitot qu'on le touche il resonne. w 
Beranger 

During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the 
autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low 
in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, 
through a singularly dreary tract of country; and at length 
found myself, as the shades of the evening drew on, within 
view of the melancholy House of Usher. I know not how 
it was — but, with the first glimpse of the building, a sense of 
insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit. I say insufferable; 
for the feeling was unrelieved by any of that half-pleasurable, 
because poetic, sentiment with which the mind usually re- 
ceives even the sternest natural images of the desolate or 
terrible. I looked upon the scene before me — upon the mere 
house, and the simple landscape features of the domain, 
upon the bleak walls, upon the vacant eye-like windows, 
upon a few rank sedges, and upon a few white trunks of 
decayed trees — with an utter depression of soul which I 
can compare to no earthly sensation more properly than 
to the after-dream of the reveler upon opium: the bitter 
lapse into everyday life, the hideous dropping off of the veil. 
There was an iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the heart, an 
unredeemed dreariness of thought which no goading of the 
imagination could torture into aught of the sublime. What 
was it — I paused to think — what was it that so unnerved 
me in the contemplation of the House of Usher? It was a 
mystery all insoluble; nor could I grapple with the shadowy 
. fancies that crowded upon me as I pondered. I was forced 
to fall back upon the unsatisfactory conclusion, that while, 

59 



60 THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 

beyond doubt, there are combinations of very simple natural 
objects which have the power of thus affecting us, still the 
analysis of this power lies among considerations beyond our 
depth. It was possible, I reflected, that a mere different 
arrangement of the particulars of the scene, of the details 
of the picture, would be sufficient to modify, or perhaps to 
annihilate, its capacity for sorrowful impression; and acting 
upon this idea, I reined my horse to the precipitous brink 
of a black and lurid tarn that lay in unruffled luster by the 
dwelling, and gazed down — but with a shudder even more 
thrilling than before — upon the remodeled and inverted 
images of the gray sedge, and the ghastly tree-stems, and the 
vacant and eye-like windows. 

Nevertheless, in this mansion of gloom I now proposed to 
myself a sojourn of some weeks. Its proprietor, Roderick 
Usher, had been one of my boon companions in bo}^hood; 
but many years had elapsed since our last meeting. A letter, 
however, had lately reached me in a distant part of the 
country — a letter from him — which in its wildly importu- 
nate nature had admitted of no other than a personal reply. 
The MS. gave evidence of nervous agitation. The writer 
spoke of acute bodily illness, of a mental disorder which 
oppressed him, and of an earnest desire to see me, as his 
best and indeed his only personal friend, with a view of 
attempting, by the cheerfulness of my society, some allevia- 
tion of his malady. It was the manner in which all this, and 
much more, was said — it was the apparent heart that went 
with his request — which allowed me no room for hesitation; 
and I accordingly obeyed forthwith what I still considered a 
very singular summons. 

Although as boys we had been even intimate associates, 
yet I really knew little of my friend. His reserve had been 
always excessive and habitual. I was aware, however, that 
his very ancient family has been noted, time out of mind, 
for a peculiar sensibility of temperament, displaying itself, 
through long ages, in many works of exalted art, and mani- 



THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 6l 

fested of late in repeated deeds of munificent yet unobtru- 
sive charity, as well as in a passionate devotion to the intrica- 
cies, perhaps even more than to the orthodox and easily 
recognizable beauties, of musical science. I had learned, too, 
the very remarkable fact that the stem of the Usher race, all 
time-honored as it was, had put forth at no period any endur- 
ing branch; in other words, that the entire family lay in the 
direct line of descent, and had always, with very trifling and 
very temporary variation, so lain. It was this deficiency, I 
considered, while running over in thought the perfect keep- 
ing of the character of the premises with the accredited 
character of the people, and while speculating upon the pos- 
sible influence which the one, in the long lapse of centuries, 
might have exercised upon the other — it was this deficiency, 
perhaps, of collateral issue, and the consequent undeviating 
transmission from sire to son of the patrimony with the name, 
which had, at length, so identified the two as to merge the 
original title of the estate in the quaint and equivocal ap- 
pellation of the " House of Usher" — an appellation which 
seemed to include, in the minds of the peasantry who used 
it, both the family and the family mansion. 

I have said that the sole effect of my somewhat childish 
experiment, that of looking down within the tarn, had been 
to deepen the first singular impression. There can be no 
doubt that the consciousness of the rapid increase of my 
superstition — for why should I not so term it? — served 
mainly to accelerate the increase itself. Such, I have long 
known, is the paradoxical law of all sentiments having terror 
as a basis. And it might have been for this reason only, that, 
when I again uplifted my eyes to the house itself, from its 
image in the pool, there grew in my mind a strange fancy — 
a fancy so ridiculous, indeed, that I but mention it to show 
the vivid force of the sensations which oppressed me. I had 
so worked upon my imagination as really to believe that 
about the whole mansion and domain there hung an atmos- 
phere peculiar to themselves and their immediate vicinity: 



62 THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 

an atmosphere which had no affinity with the air of heaven, 
but which had reeked up from the decayed trees, and the 
gray wall, and the silent tarn: a pestilent and mystic vapor, 
dull, sluggish, faintly discernible, and leaden-hued. 

Shaking off from my spirit what must have been a dream, I 
scanned more narrowly the real aspect of the building. Its 
principal feature seemed to be that of an excessive antiquity. 
The discoloration of ages had been great. Minute fungi 
overspread the whole exterior, hanging in a fine tangled web- 
work from the eaves. Yet all this was apart from any extraor- 
dinary dilapidation. No portion of the masonry had fallen; 
and there appeared to be a wild inconsistency between its 
still perfect adaptation of parts and the crumbling condition 
of the individual stones. In this there was much that re- 
minded one of the specious totality of old woodwork which 
has rotted for long years in some neglected vault, with no 
disturbance from the breath of the external air. Beyond this 
indication of extensive decay, however, the fabric gave little 
token of instability. Perhaps the eye of a scrutinizing ob- 
server might have discovered a barely perceptible fissure, 
which, extending from the roof of the building in front, 
made its way down the wall in a zigzag direction, until it 
became lost in the sullen waters of the tarn. 

Noticing these things, I rode over a short causeway to the 
house. A servant in waiting took my horse, and I entered the 
Gothic archway of the hall. A valet, of stealthy step, thence 
conducted me, in silence, through many dark and intricate 
passages in my progress to the studio of his master. Much 
that I encountered on the way contributed, I know not how, 
to heighten the vague sentiments of which I have already 
spoken. While the objects around me — while the carvings 
of the ceilings, the somber tapestries of the walls, the ebon 
blackness of the floors, and the phantasmagoric armorial 
trophies which rattled as I strode, were but matters to which, 
or to such as which, I had been accustomed from my infancy 
— while I hesitated not to acknowledge how familiar was all 



THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 63 

this — I still wondered to find how unfamiliar were the fancies 
which ordinary images were stirring up. On one of the stair- 
cases, I met the physician of the family. His countenance, I 
thought, wore a mingled expression of low cunning and per- 
plexity. He accosted me with trepidation and passed on. 
The valet now threw open a door and ushered me into the 
presence of his master. 

The room in which I found myself was very large and 
lofty. The windows were long, narrow, and pointed, and at 
so vast a distance from the black oaken floor as to be alto- 
gether inaccessible from within. Feeble gleams of encrim- 
soned light made their way through the trellised panes, and 
served to render sufficiently distinct the more prominent 
objects around; the eye, however, struggled in vain to reach 
the remoter angles of the chamber, or the recesses of the 
vaulted and fretted ceiling. Dark draperies hung upon the 
walls. The general furniture was profuse, comfortless, an- 
tique, and tattered. Many books and musical instruments 
lay scattered about, but failed to give any vitality to the 
scene. I felt that I breathed an atmosphere of sorrow. An 
air of stern, deep, and irredeemable gloom hung over and per- 
vaded all. 

Upon my entrance, Usher arose from a sofa on which he 
had been lying at full length, and greeted me with a vivacious 
warmth which had much in it, I at first thought, of an over- 
done cordiality — of the constrained effort of the ennuye man 
of the w T orld. A glance, however, at his countenance, con- 
vinced me of his perfect sincerity. We sat down; and for 
some moments, while he spoke not, I gazed upon him with a 
feeling half of pity, half of awe. Surely man had never before 
so terribly altered, in so brief a period, as had Roderick 
Usher! It was with difficulty that I could bring myself to 
admit the identity of the wan being before me with the com- 
panion of my early boyhood. Yet the character of his face 
had been at all times remarkable. A cadaverousness of com- 
plexion; an eye large, liquid, and luminous beyond compari- 



1 4 THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 

son; lips somewhat thin and very pallid, but of a surpassingly 
beautiful curve; a nose of a delicate Hebrew model, but with 
a breadth of nostril unusual in similar formations; a finely 
molded chin, speaking, in its want of prominence, of a want 
of moral energy; hair of a more than web-like softness and 
tenuity; these features, with an inordinate expansion above 
the regions of the temple, made up altogether a countenance 
not easily to be forgotten. And now in the mere exaggera- 
tion of the prevailing character of these features, and of the 
expression they were wont to convey, lay so much of change 
that I doubted to whom I spoke. The now ghastly pallor of 
the skin, and the now miraculous luster of the eye, above all 
things startled and even awed me. The silken hair, too, had 
been suffered to grow all unheeded, and as, in its wild gos- 
samer texture, it floated rather than fell about the face, I 
could not, even with effort, connect its arabesque expression 
with any idea of simple humanity. 

In the manner of my friend I was at once struck with an 
incoherence, an inconsistency; and I soon found this to arise 
from a series of feeble and futile struggles to overcome an 
habitual trepidancy, an excessive nervous agitation. For 
something of this nature I had indeed been prepared, no 
less by his letter than by reminiscences of certain boyish 
traits, and by conclusion deduced from his peculiar physical 
conformation and temperament. His action was alternately 
vivacious and sullen. His voice varied rapidly from a tremu- 
lous indecision (when the animal spirits seemed utterly in 
abeyance) to that species of energetic concision — that abrupt, 
weighty, unhurried, and hollow-sounding enunciation — 
that leaden, self-balanced and perfectly modulated guttural 
utterance — which may be observed in the lost drunkard, or 
the irreclaimable eater of opium, during the periods of his 
most intense excitement. 

It was thus that he spoke of the object of my visit, of his 
earnest desire to see me, and of the solace he expected me to 
afford him. He entered, at some length, into what he con- 



THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 65 

ceived to be the nature of his malady. It was, he said, a con- 
stitutional and a family evil, and one for which he despaired 
to find a remedy — a mere nervous affection, he immediately 
added, which would undoubtedly soon pass off. It displayed 
itself in a host of unnatural sensations. Some of these, as he 
detailed them, interested and bewildered me; although, per- 
haps, the terms and the general manner of the narration had 
their weight. He suffered much from a morbid acuteness of 
the senses; the most insipid food was alone endurable; he 
could wear only garments of certain texture; the odors of 
all flowers were oppressive; his eyes were tortured by even 
a faint light; and there were but peculiar sounds, and these 
from stringed instruments, which did not inspire him with 
horror. 

To an anomalous species of terror I found him a bounden 
slave. "I shall perish," said he, "I must perish in this deplor- 
able folly. Thus, thus, and not otherwise, shall I be lost. I 
dread the events of the future, not in themselves, but in their 
results. I shudder at the thought of any, even the most triv- 
ial, incident, which may operate upon this intolerable agita- 
tion of soul. I have, indeed, no abhorrence of danger, except 
in its absolute effect — in terror. In this unnerved — in this 
pitiable condition, I feel that the period will sooner or later 
arrive when I must abandon life and reason together, in some 
struggle with the grim phantasm, Fear/' 

I learned moreover at intervals, and through broken and 
equivocal hints, another singular feature of his mental condi- 
tion. He was enchained by certain superstitious impressions 
in regard to the dwelling which he tenanted, and whence, for 
many years, he had never ventured forth — in regard to an 
influence whose supposititious force was conveyed in terms 
too shadowy here to be restated — an influence which some 
peculiarities in the mere form and substance of his family 
mansion, had, by dint of long sufferance, he said, obtained 
over his spirit — an effect which the physique of the gray walls 
and turrets, and of the dim tarn into which they all looked 



66 THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 

clown, had, at length, brought about upon the morale of his 
existence. 

He admitted, however, although with hesitation, that much 
of the peculiar gloom which thus afflicted him could be traced 
to a more natural and far more palpable origin — to the severe 
and long-continued illness, indeed to the evidently approach- 
ing dissolution, of a tenderly beloved sister — his sole com- 
panion for long years, his last and only relative on earth. 
"Her decease/' he said, with a bitterness which I can never 
forget, "would leave him (him the hopeless and the frail) 
the last of the ancient race of the Ushers." While he spoke, 
the lady Madeline (for so was she called) passed slowly 
through a remote portion of the apartment, and, without 
having noticed my presence, disappeared. I regarded her 
with an utter astonishment not unmingled with dread, and 
yet I found it impossible to account for such feelings. A 
sensation of stupor oppressed me, as my eyes followed her 
retreating steps. When a door, at length, closed upon her, 
my glance sought instinctively and eagerly the countenance 
of the brother; but he had buried his face in his hands, and 
I could only perceive that a far more than ordinary wanness 
had overspread the emaciated fingers through which trickled 
many passionate tears. 

The disease of the lady Madeline had long baffled the skill 
of her physicians. A settled apathy, a gradual wasting away 
of the person, and frequent although transient affection of a 
partially cataleptical character, were the unusual diagnosis. 
Hitherto she had steadily borne up against the pressure of her 
malady, and had not betaken herself finally to bed; but, on 
the closing in of the evening of my arrival at the house, she 
succumbed (as her brother told me at night with inexpressible 
agitation) to the prostrating power of the destroyer; and I 
learned that the glimpse I had obtained of her person would 
thus probably be the last I should obtain — that the lady, at 
least while living, would be seen by me no more. 

For several days ensuing, her name was unmentioned by 



THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 67 

either Usher or myself; and during this period I was busied 
in earnest endeavors to alleviate the melancholy of my friend. 
We painted and read together; or I listened, as if in a dream, 
to the wild improvisations of his speaking guitar. And thus, 
as a closer and still closer intimacy admitted me more unre- 
servedly into the recesses of his spirit, the more bitterly did I 
perceive the futility of all attempt at cheering a mind from 
which darkness, as if an inherent positive quality, poured 
forth upon all objects of the moral and physical universe, 
in one unceasing radiation of gloom. 

I shall ever bear about me a memory of the many solemn 
hours I thus spent alone with the master of the House of 
Usher. Yet I should fail in any attempt to convey an idea of 
the exact character of the studies, or of the occupations, in 
which he involved me, or led me the way. An excited and 
highly distempered ideality threw a sulphureous luster over 
all. His long improvised dirges will ring forever in my ears. 
Among other things, I hold painfully in mind a certain singu- 
lar perversion and amplification of the wild air of the last 
waltz of Von Weber. From the paintings over which his 
elaborate fancy brooded, and which grew, touch by touch, 
into vaguenesses at which I shuddered the more thrillingly 
because I shuddered knowing not why; — from these paintings 
(vivid as their images now are before me) I would in vain 
endeavor to educe more than a small portion which should 
lie within the compass of merely written words. By the 
utter simplicity, by the nakedness of his designs, he arrested 
and overawed attention. If ever mortal painted an idea, 
that mortal was Roderick Usher. For me at least, in the 
circumstances then surrounding me, there arose, out of the 
pure abstractions which the hypochondriac contrived to 
throw upon his canvas, an intensity of intolerable awe, no 
shadow of which felt I ever yet in the contemplation of the 
certainly glowing yet too concrete reveries of Fuseli. 

One of the phantasmagoric conceptions of my friend, par- 
taking not so rigidly of the spirit of abstraction, may be 



THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 

shadowed forth, although feebly, in words. A small picture 
presented the interior of an immensely long and rectangular 
vault or tunnel, with low walls, smooth, white, and without 
interruption or device. Certain accessory points of the design 
served well to convey the idea that this excavation lay at an 
exceeding depth below the surface of the earth. No outlet 
was observed in any portion of its vast extent, and no torch 
or other artificial source of light was discernible; yet a flood 
of intense rays rolled throughout, and bathed the w T hole in a 
ghastly and inappropriate splendor. 

I have just spoken of that morbid condition of the auditory 
nerve which rendered all music intolerable to the sufferer, 
with the exception of certain effects of stringed instruments. 
It was, perhaps, the narrow limits to which he thus confined 
himself upon the guitar, which gave birth, in great measure, 
to the fantastic character of his performances. But the 
fervid facility of his impromptus could not be so accounted 
for. They must have been, and were, in the notes, as well 
as in the words of his wild fantasias (for he not unfrequently 
accompanied himself with rimed verbal improvisations), the 
result of that intense mental collectedness and concentra- 
tion to which I have previously alluded as observable only 
in particular moments of the highest artificial excitement. 
The words of one of these rhapsodies I have easily remem- 
bered. I was, perhaps, the more forcibly impressed with it, 
as he gave it, because, in the under or mystic current of its 
meaning, I fancied that I perceived, and for the first time, 
a full consciousness, on the part of Usher, of the tottering 
of his lofty reason upon her throne. The verses, which were 
entitled "The Haunted Palace, " n ran very nearly, if not 
accurately, thus: — 

i 

In the greenest of our valleys 

By good angels tenanted, 
Once a fair and stately palace — 

Radiant palace — reared its head. 



THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 69 

In the monarch Thought's dominion, 

It stood there; 
Never seraph spread a pinion 

Over fabric half so fair. 



Banners yellow, glorious, golden, 

On its roof did float and flow, 
(This — all this — was in the olden 

Time long ago) 
And every gentle air that dallied, 

In that sweet day, 
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, 

A winged odor went away. 



Wanderers in that happy valley 

Through two luminous windows saw 
Spirits moving musically 

To a lute's well-tuned law, 
Round about a throne where, sitting, 

Porphyrogene, 
In state his glory well befitting, 

The ruler of the realm was seen. 



IV 

And all with pearl and ruby glowing 

Was the fair palace door, 
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing, 

And sparkling evermore, 
A troop of Echoes whose sweet duty 

Was but to sing, 
In voices of surpassing beauty, 

The wit and wisdom of their king. 



70 THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 



But evil things, in robes of sorrow, 

Assailed the monarch's high estate; 
(Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow 

Shall dawn upon him, desolate!) 
And round about his home the glory 

That blushed and bloomed 
Is but a dim-remembered story 

Of the old time entombed. 

VI 

And travelers now within that valley 

Through the red-litten windows see 
Vast forms that move fantastically 

To a discordant melody; 
While, like a ghastly rapid river, 

Through the pale door 
A hideous throng rush out forever, 

And laugh — but smile no more. 

I well remember that suggestions arising from this ballad 
led us into a train of thought, wherein there became manifest 
an opinion of Usher's which I mention not so much on account 
of its novelty, (for other men n have thought thus,) as on ac- 
count of the pertinacity with which he maintained it. This 
opinion, in its general form, was that of the sentience of all 
vegetable things. But in his disordered fancy the idea had 
assumed a more daring character, and trespassed, under cer- 
tain conditions, upon the kingdom of inorganization. I lack 
words to express the full extent, or the earnest abandon of his 
persuasion. The belief, however, was connected (as I have 
previously hinted) with the gray stones of the home of his 
forefathers. The conditions of the sentience had been here, 
he imagined, fulfilled in the method of collocation of these 
stones — in the order of their arrangement, as well as in that 



THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER JI 

of the many fungi which overspread them, and of the decayed 
trees which stood around — above all, in the long undisturbed 
endurance of this arrangement, and in its reduplication in 
the still waters of the tarn. Its evidence — the evidence of 
the sentience — was to be seen, he said (and I here started as 
he spoke), in the gradual yet certain condensation of an at- 
mosphere of their own about the waters and the walls. The 
result was discoverable, he added, in that silent, yet importu- 
nate and terrible influence which for centuries had molded 
the destinies of his family, and which made him what I now 
saw him— what he was. Such opinions need no comment, and 
I will make none. 

Our books n — the books which, for years, had formed no 
small portion of the mental existence of the invalid — were, 
as might be supposed, in strict keeping with this character of 
phantasm. We pored together over such works as the Ver- 
veri and Chartreuse of Gresset; n the Belphegor of Machia- 
velli; w the Heaven and Hell of Swedenborg; n the Subterranean 
Voyage of Nicholas Klimm by Holberg; n the Chiromancy 
of Robert Flud, n of Jean D'Indagine, and of De la Chambre; 
the Journey into the Blue Distance of Tieck; n and the City 
of the Sun of Campanella. One favorite volume was a small 
octavo edition of the Directorium Inquisitorum, by the Do- 
minican Eymeric deGironne; and there were passages in Pom- 
ponius Mela, n about the old African Satyrs and iEgipans, 
over which Usher would sit dreaming for hours. His chief 
delight, however, was found in the perusal of an exceedingly 
rare and curious book in quarto Gothic — the manual of a 
forgotten church — the Virgilia? Mortuorum secundum Chorum 
Ecclesice Maguntince. 

I could not help thinking of the wild ritual of this work, 
and of its probable influence upon the hypochondriac, when 
one evening, having informed me abruptly that the lady 
Madeline was no more, he stated his intention of preserving 
her corpse for a fortnight, (previously to its final interment,) 
in one of the numerous vaults within the main walls of the 



72 THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 

building. The worldly reason, however, assigned for this 
singular proceeding, was one which I did not feel at liberty to 
dispute. The brother had been led to his resolution (so he 
told me) by consideration of the unusual character of the 
malady of the deceased, of certain obtrusive and eager in- 
quiries on the part of her medical men, and of the remote and 
exposed situation of the burial ground of the family. I 
will not deny that when I called to mind the sinister counte- 
nance of the person whom I met upon the staircase, on the 
day of my arrival at the house, I had no desire to oppose 
what I regarded as at best but a harmless, and by no means 
an unnatural, precaution. 

At the request of Usher, I personally aided him in the 
arrangements for the temporary entombment. The body 
having been encoffined, we two alone bore it to its rest. The 
vault in which we placed it (and which had been so long un- 
opened that our torches, half smothered in its oppressive 
atmosphere, gave us little opportunity for investigation) was 
small, damp, and entirely without means of admission for 
light; lying, at great depth, immediately beneath that por- 
tion of the building in which was my own sleeping apartment. 
It had been used, apparently, in remote feudal times, for 
the worst purposes of a donjon keep, and in later days as a 
place of deposit for powder, or some other highly combustible 
substance, as a portion of its floor, and the whole interior of a 
long archway through which we reached it, were carefully 
sheathed with copper. The door, of massive iron, had been, 
also, similarly protected. Its immense weight caused an un- 
usually sharp grating sound, as it moved upon its hinges. 

Having deposited our mournful burden upon trestles 
within this region of horror, we partially turned aside the 
yet unscrewed lid of the coffin, and looked upon the face of 
the tenant. A striking similitude between the brother and 
sister now first arrested my attention; and Usher, divining, 
perhaps, my thoughts, murmured out some few words from 
which I learned that the deceased and himself had been twins 



THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 73 

and that sympathies of a scarcely intelligible nature had 
always existed between them. Our glances, however, rested 
not long upon the dead — for we could not regard her unawed. 
The disease which had thus entombed the lady in the matu- 
rity of youth, had left, as usual in all maladies of a strictly 
cataleptical character, the mockery of a faint blush upon the 
bosom and the face, and that suspiciously lingering smile upon 
the lip which is so terrible in death. We replaced and screwed 
down the lid, and, having secured the door of iron, made our 
way, with toil, into the scarcely less gloomy apartments of 
the upper portion of the house. 

And now, some days of bitter grief having elapsed, an 
observable change came over the features of the menta^ dis- 
order of my friend. His ordinary manner had vanished. His 
ordinary occupations were neglected or forgotten. He roamed 
from chamber to chamber with hurried, unequal, and object- 
less step. The pallor of his countenance had assumed, if 
possible, a more ghastly hue — but the luminousness of his 
eye had utterly gone out. The once occasional huskiness of 
his tone was heard no more; and a tremulous quaver, as if of 
extreme terror, habitually characterized his utterance. There 
were times, indeed, when I thought his unceasingly agitated 
mind was laboring with some oppressive secret, to divulge 
which he struggled for the necessary courage. At times, 
again, I was obliged to resolve all into the mere inexplicable 
vagaries of madness, for I beheld him gazing upon vacancy 
for long hours, in an attitude of the profoundest attention, 
as if listening to some imaginary sound. It was no wonder 
that his condition terrified — that it infected me. I felt creep- 
ing upon me, by slow yet certain degrees, the wild influences 
of his own fantastic yet impressive superstitions. 

It was, especially, upon retiring to bed late in the night of 
the seventh or eighth day after the placing of the lady Made- 
line within the donjon, that I experienced the full power of 
such feelings. Sleep came not near my couch, while the hours 
waned and waned away. I struggled to reason off the nerv- 



74 THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 

outness which had dominion over me. I endeavored to be- 
lieve that much, if not all, of what I felt was due to the be- 
wildering influence of the gloomy furniture of the room — of 
the dark and tattered draperies which, tortured into motion 
by the breath of a rising tempest, swayed fitfully to and fro 
upon the walls, and rustled uneasily about the decorations 
of the bed. But my efforts were fruitless. An irrepressible 
tremor gradually pervaded my frame; and at length there 
sat upon my very heart an incubus of utterly causeless alarm. 
Shaking this off* with a gasp and a struggle, I uplifted myself 
upon the pillows, and, peering earnestly within the intense 
darkness of the chamber, hearkened — I know not why, ex- 
cept that an instinctive spirit prompted me — to certain low 
and indefinite sounds which came, through the pauses of 
the storm, at long intervals, I knew not whence. Over- 
powered by an intense sentiment of horror, unaccountable 
yet unendurable, I threw on my clothes with haste, (for I 
felt that I should sleep no more during the night,) and en- 
deavored to arouse myself from the pitiable condition into 
which I had fallen, by pacing rapidly to and fro through the 
apartment. 

I had taken but few turns in this manner, when a light step 
on an adjoining staircase arrested my attention. I presently 
recognized it as that of Usher. In an instant afterward he 
rapped with a gentle touch at my door, and entered, bearing 
a lamp. His countenance was, as usual, cadaverously wan — 
but, moreover, there was a species of mad hilarity in his eyes 
— an evidently restrained hysteria in his whole demeanor. 
His air appalled me — but anything was preferable to the soli- 
tude which I had so long endured, and I even welcomed his 
presence as a relief. 

"And you have not seen it?" he said abruptly, after having 
stared about him for some moments in silence — "you have 
not then seen it? — but, stay! you shall." Thus speaking, and 
having carefully shaded his lamp, he hurried to one of the 
casements, and threw it freely open to the storm. 



THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 75 

The impetuous fury of the entering gust nearly lifted us 
from our feet. It was, indeed, a tempestuous yet sternly 
beautiful night, and one wildly singular in its terror and its 
beauty. A whirlwind had apparently collected its force in 
our vicinity; for there were frequent and violent alterations 
in the direction of the wind; and the exceeding density of 
the clouds (which hung so low as to press upon the turrets 
of the house) did not prevent our perceiving the life-like 
velocity with which they flew careering from all points against 
each other, without passing away into the distance. I say 
that even their exceeding density did not prevent our per- 
ceiving this; yet we had no glimpse of the moon or stars, nor 
was there any flashing forth of the lightning. But the under 
surfaces of the huge masses of agitated vapor, as well as all 
terrestrial objects immediately around us, were glowing in 
the unnatural light of a faintly luminous and distinctly visi- 
ble gaseous exhalation which hung about and enshrouded 
the mansion. 

"You must not — you shall not behold this!" said I, shud- 
deringly, to Usher, as I led him with a gentle violence from 
the window to a seat. "These appearances, which bewilder 
you, are merely electrical phenomena not uncommon — or it 
may be that they have their ghastly origin in the rank miasma 
of the tarn. Let us close this casement; the air is chilling and 
dangerous to your frame. Here is one of your favorite 
romances. I will read, and you shall listen; — and so we w411 
pass away this terrible night together." 

The antique volume which I had taken up was the Mad 
Trist of Sir Launcelot Canning; n but I had called it a favor- 
ite of Usher's more in sad jest than in earnest; for, in truth, 
there is little in its uncouth and unimaginative prolixity 
which could have had interest for the lofty and spiritual 
ideality of my friend. It was, however, the only book im- 
mediately at hand; and I indulged a vague hope that the 
excitement which now agitated the hypochondriac might 
find relief (for the history of mental disorder is full of similar 



THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 

anomalies) even in the extremeness of the folly which I should 
read. Could I have judged, indeed, by the wild overstrained 
air of vivacity with which he hearkened, or apparently 
hearkened, to the words of the tales, I might well have con- 
gratulated myself upon the success of my design. 

I had arrived at that well-known portion of the story where 
Ethelred, the hero of the Trist, having sought in vain for 
peaceable admission into the dwelling of the hermit, proceeds 
to make good an entrance by force. Here, it will be remem- 
bered, the words of the narrative run thus: — 

"And Ethelred, who was by nature of a doughty heart, and who 
was now mighty withal, on account of the powerfulness of the wine 
which he had drunken, waited no longer to hold parley with the 
hermit, who, in sooth, was of an obstinate and maliceful turn, but, 
feeling the rain upon his shoulders, and fearing the rising of the 
tempest, uplifted his mace outright, and with blows made quickly 
room in the plankings of the door for his gauntleted hand; and 
now pulling therewith sturdily, he so cracked, and ripped, and 
tore all asunder, that the noise of the dry and hollow-sounding 
wood alarumed and reverberated throughout the forest." 

At the termination of this sentence I started, and for a 
moment paused; for it appeared to me (although I at once 
concluded that my excited fancy had deceived me) — it ap- 
peared to me that from some very remote portion of the man- 
sion there came, indistinctly, to my ears, what might have 
been, in its exact similarity of character, the echo (but a stifled 
and dull one certainly) of the very cracking and ripping sound 
which Sir Launcelot had so particularly described. It was, 
beyond doubt, the coincidence alone which had arrested my 
attention; for, amid the rattling of the sashes of the case- 
ments, and the ordinary commingled noises of the still increas- 
ing storm, the sound, in itself, had nothing, surely, which should 
have interested or disturbed me. I continued the story: — 

"But the good champion Ethelred, now entering within the 
door, was sore enraged and amazed to perceive no signal of the 



THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 77 

maliceful hermit; but, in the stead thereof, a dragon of a scaly 
and prodigious demeanor, and of a fiery tongue, which sate in 
guard before a palace of gold, with a floor of silver; and upon the 
wall there hung a shield of shining brass with this legend enwritten — 

Who entereth herein, a conqueror hath bin; 
Who slayeth the dragon, the shield he shall win. 

And Ethelred uplifted his mace, and struck upon the head of the 
dragon, which fell before him, and gave up his pesty breath, with 
a shriek so horrid and harsh, and withal so piercing, that Ethelred 
had fain to close his ears with his hands against the dreadful noise 
of it, the like whereof was never before heard." 

Here again I paused abruptly, and now with a feeling of 
wild amazement; for there could be no doubt whatever that, 
in this instance, I did actually hear (although from what 
direction it proceeded I found it impossible to say) a low and 
apparently distant, but harsh, protracted, and most unusual 
screaming or grating sound — the exact counterpart of what 
my fancy had already conjured up for the dragon's unnatural 
shriek as described by the romancer. 

Oppressed, as I certainly was, upon the occurrence of this 
second and most extraordinary coincidence, by a thousand 
conflicting sensations, in which wonder and extreme terror 
were predominant, I still retained sufficient presence of mind 
to avoid exciting, by any observation, the sensitive nervous- 
ness of my companion. I was by no means certain that he had 
noticed the sounds in question; although, assuredly, a strange 
alteration had during the last few minutes taken place in his 
demeanor. From a position fronting my own, he had grad- 
ually brought round his chair, so as to sit with his face to the 
door of the chamber; and thus I could but partially perceive 
his features, although I saw that his lip trembled as if he were 
murmuring inaudibly. His head had dropped upon his breast 
— yet I knew that he was not asleep, from the wide and rigid 
opening of the eye as I caught a glance of it in profile. The 
motion of his body, too, was at variance with this idea — for 



7^ THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 

he rocked from side to side with a gentle yet constant and 
uniform sway. Having rapidly taken notice of all this, I re- 
sumed the narrative of Sir Launcelot, which thus proceeded: — 

"And now, the champion, having escaped from the terrible fury 
of the dragon, bethinking himself of the brazen shield, and of the 
breaking up of the enchantment which was upon it, removed' the 
carcass from out of the way before him, and approached valor- 
ously over the silver pavement of the castle to where the shield 
was upon the wall; which in sooth tarried not for his full coming, 
but fell down at his feet upon the silver floor, with a mighty great 
and terrible ringing sound." 

No sooner had these syllables passed my lips, than — as if 
a shield of brass had indeed, at the moment, fallen heavily 
upon a floor of silver — I became aware of a distinct, hollow, 
metallic and clangorous, yet apparently muffled reverbera- 
tion. Completely unnerved, I leaped to my feet; but the 
measured rocking movement of Usher was undisturbed. I 
rushed to the chair in which he sat. His eyes were bent fixedly 
before him, and throughout his whole countenance there 
reigned a stony rigidity. But, as I placed my hand upon his 
shoulder, there came a strong shudder over his whole person; 
a sickly smile quivered about his lips; and I saw that he spoke 
in a low, hurried, and gibbering murmur, as if unconscious 
of my presence. Bending closely over him, I at length drank 
in the hideous import of his words. 

"Not hear it? — yes, I hear it, and have heard it. Long — 
long — long — many minutes, many hours, many days, have 
I heard it — yet I dared not — oh, pity me, miserable wretch 
that I am! — I dared not — I dared not speak! We have put 
her living in the tomb! Said I not that my senses were acute? 
I now tell you that I heard her first feeble movements in the 
hollow coffin. I heard them — many, many days ago — yet I 
dared not — / dared not speak! And now — to-night— Ethel- 
red — ha! ha! — the breaking of the hermit's door, and the 
death cry of the dragon, and the clangor of the shield! — 



THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 79 

say, rather, the rending of her coffin, and the grating of the 
iron hinges of her prison, and her struggles within the cop- 
pered archway of the vault! Oh, whither shall I fly? Will 
she not be here anon? Is she not hurrying to upbraid me for 
my haste? Have I not heard her footstep on the stair? Do 
I not distinguish that heavy and horrible beating of her 
heart? Madman!" — here he sprang furiously to his feet, 
and shrieked out his syllables, as if in the effort he were giving 
up his soul — "Madman! I tell you that she now stands without 
the door!" 

As if in the superhuman energy of his utterance there had 
been found the potency of a spell, the huge antique panels 
to which the speaker pointed threw slowly back, upon the 
instant, their ponderous and ebony jaws. It was the work of 
the rushing gust — but then without those doors there did 
stand the lofty and enshrouded figure of the lady Madeline 
of Usher. There was blood upon her white robes, and the 
evidence of some bitter struggle upon every portion of her 
emaciated frame. For a moment she remained trembling 
and reeling to and fro upon the threshold — then, with a low 
moaning cry, fell heavily inward upon the person of her 
brother, and, in her violent and now final death agonies, 
bore him to the floor a corpse, and a victim to the terrors he 
had anticipated. 

From that chamber, and from that mansion, I fled aghast. 
The storm was still abroad in all its wrath as I found myself 
crossing the old causeway. Suddenly there shot along the 
path a wild light, and I turned to see whence a gleam so 
unusual could have issued; for the vast house and its shadows 
were alone behind me. The radiance was that of the full, 
setting, and blood-red moon, which now shone vividly 
through that once barely-discernible fissure, of which I have 
before spoken as extending from the roof of the building, in a 
zigzag direction, to the base. While I gazed, this fissure rap- 
idly widened — there came a fierce breath of the whirlwind — 
the entire orb of the satellite burst at once upon my sight — 



So THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 

my brain reeled as I saw the mighty walls rushing asunder — 
there was a long tumultuous shouting sound like the voice 
of a thousand waters — and the deep and dank tarn at my 
feet closed sullenly and silently over the fragments of the 

"House of Usher" 



A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 

The ways of God in Nature, as in Providence, are not as our 
ways; nor are the models that we frame any way commensurate to 
the vastness, profundity, and unsearchableness of His works, which 
have a depth in them greater than the well of Democritus. 

Joseph Glanville 

We had now reached the summit of the loftiest crag. For 
some minutes the old man seemed too much exhausted to 
speak. 

"Not long ago," said he at length, "and I could have 
guided you on this route as well as the youngest of my sons; 
but, about three years past, there happened to me an event 
such as never happened before to mortal man — or at least 
such as no man ever survived to tell of — and the six hours 
of deadly terror which I then endured have broken me up 
body and soul. You suppose me a very old man — but I am 
not. It took less than a single day to change these hairs from 
a jetty black to white, to weaken my limbs, and to unstring 
my nerves, so that I tremble at the least exertion, and am 
frightened at a shadow. Do you know I can scarcely look 
over this little cliff without getting giddy ? " 

The "little cliff," upon whose edge he had so carelessly 
thrown himself down to rest that the weightier portion of his 
body hung over it, while he was only kept from falling by 
the tenure of his elbow on its extreme and slippery edge — this 
"little cliff" arose, a sheer unobstructed precipice of black 
shining rock, some fifteen or sixteen hundred feet from the 
world of crags beneath us. Nothing would have tempted me 
to within half a dozen yards of its brink. In truth so deeply 
was I excited by the perilous position of my companion, that 
I fell at full length upon the ground, clung to the shrubs 

81 



S2 A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 

around me, and dared not even glance upward at the sky — 
while 1 struggled in vain to divest myself of the idea that the 
very foundations of the mountain were in danger from the 
fury of the winds. It was long before I could reason myself 
into sufficient courage to sit up and look out into the distance. 

" You must get over these fancies," said the guide, "for I 
have brought you here that you might have the best possible 
view of the scene of that event I mentioned — and to tell you 
the whole story with the spot just under your eye. 

"We are now," he continued, in that particularizing man- 
ner which distinguished him — "we are now close upon the 
Norwegian coast — in the sixty-eighth degree of latitude — in 
the great province of Nordland — and in the dreary district 
of Lofoden. The mountain upon whose top we sit is Helseg- 
gen, the Cloudy. Now raise yourself up a little higher — 
hold on to the grass if you feel giddy — so — and look out, 
beyond the belt of vapor beneath us, into the sea." 

I looked dizzily, and beheld a wide expanse of ocean, whose 
waters wore so inky a hue as to bring at once to my mind the 
Nubian geographer's n account of the Mare Tenebrarum. n 
A panorama more deplorably desolate no human imagina- 
tion can conceive. To the right and left, as far as the eye 
could reach, there lay outstretched, like ramparts of the 
world, lines of horridly black and beetling clifF, whose char- 
acter of gloom was but the more forcibly illustrated by the 
surf which reared high up against it its white and ghastly 
crest, howling and shrieking forever. Just opposite the prom- 
ontory upon whose apex we were placed, and at a distance 
of some five or six miles out at sea, there was visible a small, 
bleak-looking island; or, more properly, its position was 
discernible through the wilderness of surge in which it was 
enveloped. About two miles nearer the land arose another 
of smaller size, hideously craggy and barren, and encompassed 
at various intervals by a cluster of dark rocks. 

The appearance of the ocean, in the space between the 
more distant island and the shore, had something very un- 



A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 83 

usual about it. Although, at the time, so strong a gale was 
blowing landward that a brig in the remote offing lay to under 
a double-reefed trysail, and constantly plunged her whole 
hull out of sight, still there was here nothing like a regular 
swell, but only a short, quick, angry cross dashing of water 
in every direction — as well in the teeth of the wind as other- 
wise. Of foam there was little except in the immediate vi- 
cinity of the rocks. 

"The island in the distance," resumed the old man, "is 
called by the Norwegians Vurrgh. The one midway is Mos- 
koe. That a mile to the northward is Ambaaren. Yonder 
are Iflesen, Hoeyholm, Kieldholm, Suarven, and Buckholm. 
Farther off — between Moskoe and Vurrgh — are Otterholm, 
Flimen, Sandflesen, and Skarholm. These are the true names 
of the places — but why it has been thought necessary to 
name them at all is more than either you or I can understand. 
Do you hear anything? Do you see any change in the 
water? " 

We had now been about ten minutes upon the top of Hel- 
seggen, to which we had ascended from the interior of Lofo- 
den, so that w T e had caught no glimpse of the sea until it had 
burst upon us from the summit. As the old man spoke, I 
became aw^are of a loud and gradually increasing sound, like 
the moaning of a vast herd of buffaloes upon an American 
prairie; and at the same moment I perceived that what sea- 
men term the chopping character of the ocean beneath us, 
was rapidly changing into a current which set to the east- 
ward. Even while I gazed, this current acquired a monstrous 
velocity. Each moment added to its speed — to its headlong 
impetuosity. In five minutes the whole sea, as far as Vurrgh, 
was lashed into ungovernable fury; but it was between Mos- 
koe and the coast that the main uproar held its sway. Here 
the vast bed of the waters, seamed and scarred into a thou- 
sand conflicting channels, burst suddenly into frenzied con- 
vulsion — heaving, boiling, hissing — gyrating in gigantic and 
innumerable vortices, and all whirling and plunging on to 



84 A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 

the eastward with a rapidity which water never elsewhere 
assumes, except in precipitous descents. 

In a few minutes more, there came over the scene another 
radical alteration. The general surface grew somewhat more 
smooth, and the whirlpools, one by one, disappeared, while 
prodigious streaks of foam became apparent where none had 
been seen before. These streaks, at length, spreading out to 
a great distance, and entering into combination, took unto 
themselves the gyratory motion of the subsided vortices, and 
seemed to form the germ of another more vast. Suddenly — 
very suddenly — this assumed a distinct and definite existence, 
in a circle of more than a mile in diameter. The edge of the 
whirl was represented by a broad belt of gleaming spray; but 
no particle of this slipped into the mouth of the terrific funnel, 
whose interior, as far as the eye could fathom it, was a smooth 
shining, and jet-black wall of water, inclined to the horizon at 
an angle of some forty-five degrees, speeding dizzily round 
and round with a swaying and sweltering motion, and send- 
ing forth to the winds an appalling voice, half shriek, half 
roar, such as not even the mighty cataract of Niagara ever 
lifts up in its agony to Heaven. 

The mountain trembled to its very base, and the rock 
rocked. I threw myself upon my face, and clung to the scant 
herbage in an excess of nervous agitation. 

"This," said I at length, to the old man — "this can be 
nothing else than the great whirlpool of the Maelstrom." 

"So it is sometimes termed," said he. "We Norwegians 
call it the Moskoe-strom, from the island of Moskoe in the 
midway." 

The ordinary accounts of this vortex had by no means pre- 
pared me for what I saw. That of Jonas Ramus, which is 
perhaps the most circumstantial of any, cannot impart the 
faintest conception either of the magnificence or of the horror 
of the scene — or of the wild bewildering sense of the novel 
which confounds the beholder. I am not sure from what 
point of view the writer in question surveyed it, nor at what 



A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 85 

time; but it could neither have been from the summit of 
Helseggen, nor during a storm. There are some passages 
of his description, nevertheless, which may be quoted for 
their details, although their effect is exceedingly feeble in 
conveying an impression of the spectacle. 

"Between Lofoden and Moskoe," he says, "the depth of 
the water is between thirty-six and forty fathoms; but on the 
other side, toward Ver (Vurrgh), this depth decreases so as 
not to afford a convenient passage for a vessel, without the 
risk of splitting on the rocks, which happens even in the 
calmest weather. When it is flood, the stream runs up 
the country between Lofoden and Moskoe with a boisterous 
rapidity; but the roar of its impetuous ebb to the sea is 
scarce equaled by the loudest and most dreadful cataracts, 
the noise being heard several leagues off; and the vortices or 
pits are of such an extent and depth, that if a ship comes 
within its attraction, it is inevitably absorbed and carried 
down to the bottom, and there beat to pieces against the 
rocks; and when the water relaxes, the fragments thereof 
are thrown up again. But these intervals of tranquillity are 
only at the turn of the ebb and flood, and in calm weather, 
and last but a quarter of an hour, its violence gradually re- 
turning. When the stream is most boisterous, and its fury 
heightened by a storm, it is dangerous to come within a 
Norway mile of it. Boats, yachts, and ships have been car- 
ried away by not guarding against it before they were within 
its reach. It likewise happens frequently that whales come 
too near the stream, and are overpowered by its violence; 
and then it is impossible to describe their howlings and bel- 
lowings in their fruitless struggles to disengage themselves. 
A bear once, attempting to swim from Lofoden to Moskoe, 
was caught by the stream and borne down, while he roared 
terribly, so as to be heard on shore. Large stocks of firs 
and pine trees, after being absorbed by the current, rise again 
broken and torn to such a degree as if bristles grew upon them. 
This plainly shows the bottom to consist of craggy rocks, 



86 A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 

among which they are whirled to and fro. This stream is 
regulated by the flux and reflux of the sea — it being con- 
stantly high and low water every six hours. In the year 
1645, early in the morning of Sexagesima Sunday, it raged 
with such noise and impetuosity that the very stones of the 
houses on the coast fell to the ground." 

In regard to the depth of the water, I could not see how 
this could have been ascertained at all in the immediate vicin- 
ity of the vortex. The "forty fathoms" must have reference 
only to portions of the channel close upon the shore either of 
Moskoe or Lofoden. The depth in the center of the Moskoe- 
strom must be immeasurably greater; and no better proof of 
this fact is necessary than can be obtained from even the 
sidelong glance into the abyss of the whirl which may be had 
from the highest crag of Helseggen. Looking down from this 
pinnacle upon the howling Phlegethon n below, I could not 
help smiling at the simplicity with which the honest Jonas 
Ramus records, as a matter difficult of belief, the anecdotes 
of the whales and the bears; for it appeared to me, in fact, 
a self-evident thing that the largest ships of the line in exist- 
ence, coming within the influence of that deadly attraction, 
could resist it as little as a feather the hurricane, and must 
disappear bodily and at once. 

The attempts to account for the phenomenon — some of 
which, I remember, seemed to me sufficiently plausible in 
perusal — now wore a very different and unsatisfactory aspect. 
The idea generally received is that this, as well as three 
smaller vortices among the Feroe Islands, "have no other 
cause than the collision of waves rising and falling, at flux 
and reflux, against a ridge of rocks and shelves, which con- 
fines the water so that it precipitates itself like a cataract; 
and thus the higher the flood rises, the deeper must the fall 
be, and the natural result of all is a whirlpool or vortex, the 
prodigious suction of which is sufficiently known by lesser 
experiments." — These are the words of the "Encyclopedia 
Britannica." Kircher n and others imagine that in the center 



A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 87 

of the channel of the Maelstrom is an abyss penetrating the 
globe, and issuing in some very remote part — the Gulf of 
Bothnia being somewhat decidedly named in one instance. 
This opinion, idle in itself, was the one to which, as I gazed, 
my imagination most readily assented; and, mentioning it to 
the guide, I was rather surprised to hear him say that, al- 
though it was the view almost universally entertained of the 
subject by the Norwegians, it nevertheless was not his own. 
As to the former notion he confessed his inability to compre- 
hend it; and here I agreed with him — for, however conclusive 
on paper, it becomes altogether unintelligible, and even 
absurd, amid the thunder of the abyss. 

"You have had a good look at the whirl now," said the 
old man, "and if you will creep round this crag, so as to get 
in its lee, and deaden the roar of the water, I will tell you a 
story that will convince you I ought to know something of 
the Moskoe-strom." 

I placed myself as desired, and he proceeded. 

"Myself and my two brothers once owned a schooner- 
rigged smack of about seventy tons burden, with which we 
were in the habit of fishing among the islands beyond Moskoe, 
nearly to Vurrgh. In all violent eddies at sea there is good 
fishing, at proper opportunities, if one has only the courage 
to attempt it; but among the whole of the Lofoden coast- 
men we three were the only ones who made a regular business 
of going out to the islands, as I tell you. The usual grounds 
are a great way lower down to the southward. There fish 
can be got at all hours, without much risk, and therefore 
these places are preferred. The choice spots over here among 
the rocks, however, not only yield the finest variety, but 
in far greater abundance; so that we often got in a single 
day what the more timid of the craft could not scrape together 
in a week. In fact, we made it a matter of desperate specu- 
lation — the risk of life standing instead of labor, and courage 
answering for capital. 

"We kept the smack in a cove about five miles higher up 



SS • A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 

the coast than this; and it was our practice, in fine weather, 
to take advantage of the fifteen minutes' slack to push across 
the main channel of the Moskoe-strom, far above the pool, 
and then drop down upon anchorage somewhere near Otter- 
holm, or Sandflesen, where the eddies are not so violent as 
elsewhere. Here we used to remain until nearly time for 
slack water again, when we weighed and made for home. We 
never set out upon this expedition without a steady side wind 
for coming and going — one that we felt sure would not fail 
us before our return — and we seldom made a miscalcula- 
tion upon this point. Twice, during six years, we were forced 
to stay all night at anchor on account of a dead calm, which 
is a rare thing just about here; and once we had to remain 
on the grounds nearly a week, starving to death, owing to a 
gale which blew up shortly after our arrival, and made the 
channel too boisterous to be thought of. Upon this occasion 
we should have been driven out to sea in spite of everything 
(for the whirlpools threw round and round so violently, that 
at length, we fouled our anchor and dragged it) if it had 
not been that we drifted into one of the innumerable cross 
currents — here to-day and gone to-morrow — which drove us 
under the lee of Flimen, where, by good luck, we brought up. 
"I could not tell you the twentieth part of the difficulties 
we encountered 'on the ground' — it is a bad spot to be in, 
even in good weather — but we made shift always to run the 
gantlet of the Moskoe-strom itself without accident; al- 
though at times my heart has been in my mouth when we 
happened to be a minute or so behind or before the slack. 
The wind sometimes was not as strong as we thought it at 
starting, and then we made rather less way than we could 
wish, while the current rendered the smack unmanageable. 
My eldest brother had a son eighteen years old, and I had 
two stout boys of my own. These would have been of great 
assistance at such times, in using the sweeps, as well as after- 
ward in fishing — but, somehow, although we ran the risk 
ourselves, we had not the heart to let the young ones get 



A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 89 

into the danger — for, after all said and done, it was a horrible 
danger, and that is the truth. 

"It is now within a few days of three years since what I am 
going to tell you occurred. It was on the tenth of July, 18 — , 
a day which the people of this part of the world will never 
forget — for it was one in which blew the most terrible hurri- 
cane that ever came out of the heavens. And yet all the 
morning, and indeed until late in the afternoon, there was a 
gentle and steady breeze from the southwest, while the sun 
shone brightly, so that the oldest seamen among us could not 
have foreseen what was to follow\ 

"The three of us — my two brothers and myself — had 
crossed over to the islands about two o'clock P.M., and soon 
nearly loaded the smack with fine fish, which, we all remarked, 
were more plenty that day than we had ever known them. It 
was just seven, by my zvatch, when we weighed and started 
for home, so as to make the worst of the Strom at slack water, 
which w T e knew would be at eight. 

"We set out with a fresh wind on our starboard quarter, 
and for some time spanked along at a great rate, never dream- 
ing of danger, for indeed we saw not the slightest reason to 
apprehend it. All at once we were taken aback by a breeze 
from over Helseggen. This was most unusual — something 
that had never happened to us before — and I began to feel a 
little uneasy, without exactly knowing why. We put the boat 
on the wind, but could make no headway at all for the eddies, 
and I was upon the point of proposing to return to the anchor- 
age, when, looking astern, w T e saw the whole horizon covered 
with a singular copper-colored cloud that rose with the most 
amazing velocity. 

"In the meantime the breeze that had headed us off fell 
away, and w 7 e were dead becalmed, drifting about in every 
direction. This state of things, however, did not last long 
enough to give us time to think about it. In less than a 
minute the storm was upon us — in less than two the sky was 
entirely overcast — and what with this and the driving spray, 



90 A DESCENT IX TO THE MAELSTROM 

it became suddenly so dark that we could not see each other 
in the smack. 

"Such a hurricane as then blew it is folly to attempt 
describing. The oldest seaman in Norway never experienced 
anything like it. We had let our sails go by the run before it 
cleverly took us; but, at the first puff, both our masts went by 
the board as if they had been sawed off — the mainmast tak- 
ing with it my youngest brother, who had lashed himself to it 
for safety. 

"Our boat was the lightest feather of a thing that ever sat 
upon water. It had a complete flush deck, with only a small 
hatch near the bow, and this hatch it had always been our 
custom to batten down when about to cross the Strom, by 
way of precaution against the chopping seas. But for this 
circumstance we should have foundered at once — for we lay 
entirely buried for some moments. How my elder brother 
escaped destruction I cannot say, for I never had an oppor- 
tunity of ascertaining. For my part, as soon as I had let 
the foresail run, I threw myself flat on deck, with my feet 
against the narrow gunwale of the bow, and with my hands 
grasping a ringbolt near the foot of the foremast. It was 
mere instinct that prompted me to do this — which was un- 
doubtedly the very best thing I could have done — for I was 
too much flurried to think. 

"For some moments we were completely deluged, as I 
say, and all this time I held my breath, and clung to the bolt. 
When I could stand it no longer I raised myself upon my 
knees, still keeping hold with my hands> and thus got my 
head clear. Presently our little boat gave herself a shake, 
just as a dog does in coming out of the water, and thus rid 
herself, in some measure, of the seas. I was now trying to get 
the better of the stupor that had come over me, and to collect 
my senses so as to see what was to be done, when I felt some- 
body grasp my arm. It was my elder brother, and my heart 
leaped for joy, for I had made sure that he was overboard — 
but the next moment all this joy w T as turned into horror — for 



A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 91 

he put his mouth close to my ear, and screamed out the word 
' Moskoe-strom!' 

"No one will ever know what my feelings were at that 
moment. I shook from head to foot as if I had had the most 
violent fit of the ague. I knew what he meant by that one 
word well enough — I knew what he wished to make me 
understand. With the wind that now drove us on, we were 
bound for the whirl of the Strom, and nothing could save us! 

"You perceive that in crossing the Strom channel, we 
always went a long way up above the whirl, even in the 
calmest weather, and then had to wait and watch carefully 
for the slack — but now we were driving right upon the pool 
itself, and in such a hurricane as this! 'To be sure,' I thought, 
'we shall get there just about the slack — there is some little 
hope in that— but in the next moment I cursed myself for 
being so great a fool as to dream of hope at all. I knew very 
well that we were doomed, had we been ten times a ninety- 
gun ship. 

"By this time the first fury of the tempest had spent itself, 
or perhaps we did not feel it so much as we scudded before 
it; but at all events the seas, which at first had been kept 
down by the wind, and lay flat and frothing, now got up into 
absolute mountains. A singular change, too, had come over 
the heavens. Around in every direction it was still as black 
as pitch, but nearly overhead there burst out, all at once, a 
circular rift of clear sky — as clear as I ever saw — and of a 
deep bright blue — and through it there blazed forth the full 
moon with a luster that I never before knew her to wear. 
She lit up everything about us with the greatest distinct- 
ness — but, oh God, what a scene it was to light up! 

"I now made one or two attempts to speak to my brother 
— but, in some manner which I could not understand, the din 
had so increased that I could not make him hear a single 
word, although I screamed at the top of my voice in his ear. 
Presently he shook his head, looking as pale as death, and 
held up one of his fingers, as if to say listen! 



92 A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 

' 'At first I could not make out what he meant — but soon 
a hideous thought flashed upon me. 1 dragged my watch 
from its fob. It was not going. I glanced at its face by the 
moonlight, and then burst into tears as I flung it far away 
into the ocean. It had run down at seven o'clock! We were 
behind the time of the slack, and the whirl of the Strom was in 
full fury! 

"When a boat is well built, properly trimmed, and not deep 
laden, the waves in a strong gale, when she is going large, 
seem always to slip from beneath her — which appears very 
strange to a landsman — and this is what is called riding, in 
sea phrase. 

"Well, so far we had ridden the swells very cleverly; but 
presently a gigantic sea happened to take us right under the 
counter, and bore us with it as it rose — up — up — as if into 
the sky. I would not have believed that any wave could rise 
so high. And then down we came with a sweep, a slide, and 
a plunge, that made me feel sick and dizzy, as if I was falling 
from some lofty mountain top in a dream. But while we 
were up I had thrown a quick glance around — and that one 
glance was all sufficient. I saw our exact position in an in- 
stant. The Moskoe-strom whirlpool was about a quarter of 
a mile dead ahead — but no more like the everyday Moskoe- 
strom, than the whirl as you now see it is like a mill race. If I 
had not known where we were, and what we had to expect, I 
should not have recognized the place at all. As it was, I in- 
voluntarily closed my eyes in horror. The lids clenched them- 
selves together as if in a spasm. 

"It could not have been more than two minutes afterwards 
until we suddenly felt the waves subside, and were enveloped 
in foam. The boat made a sharp half turn to larboard, and 
then shot off* in its new direction like a thunderbolt. At the 
same moment the roaring noise of the water was completely 
drowned in a kind of shrill shriek — such a sound as you might 
imagine given out by the water pipes of many thousand 
steam vessels, letting off* their steam all together. We were 



A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 93 

now in the belt of surf that always surrounds the whirl; and 
I thought, of course, that another moment would plunge 
us into the abyss — down which we could only see indistinctly 
on account of the amazing velocity with which we were borne 
along. The boat did not seem to sink into the water at all, 
but to skim like an air bubble upon the surface of the surge. 
Her starboard side was next the whirl, and on the larboard 
arose the world of ocean we had left. It stood like a huge 
writhing wall between us and the horizon. 

"It may appear strange, but now, when we were in the 
very jaws of the gulf, I felt more composed than when we were 
only approaching it. Having made up my mind to hope no 
more, I got rid of a great deal of that terror which unmanned 
me at first. I suppose it was despair that strung my nerves. 

"It may look like boasting — but what I tell you is truth — ■ 
I began to reflect how magnificent a thing it was to die in such 
a manner, and how foolish it was in me to think of so paltry a 
consideration as my own individual life, in view of so wonder- 
ful, a manifestation of God's power. I do believe that I 
blushed with shame when this idea crossed my mind. After 
a little while I became possessed with the keenest curiosity 
about the whirl itself. I positively felt a wish to explore its 
depths, even at the sacrifice I was going to make; and my 
principal grief was that I should never be able to tell my old 
companions on shore about the mysteries I should see. These, 
no doubt, were singular fancies to occupy a man's mind in 
such extremity — and I have often thought, since, that the 
revolutions of the boat around the pool might have rendered 
me a little light-headed. 

"There was another circumstance which tended to restore 
my self-possession; and this was the cessation of the wind, 
which could not reach us in our present situation — for, as 
you saw yourself, the belt of surf is considerably lower than 
the general bed of the ocean, and this latter now towered 
above us, a high, black, mountainous ridge. If you have 
never been at sea in a heavy gale, you can form no idea of 



>\ A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 

the confusion of mind occasioned by the wind and spray 
together. They blind, deafen, and strangle you, and take 
away all power of action or reflection. But we were now, 
in a great measure, rid of these annoyances — just as death- 
condemned felons in prison are allowed petty indulgences, 
forbidden them while their doom is yet uncertain. 

u How often we made the circuit of the belt it is impossible 
to say. We careered round and round for perhaps an hour, 
flying rather than floating, getting gradually more and more 
into the middle of the surge, and then nearer and nearer to its 
horrible inner edge. All this time I had never let go of the 
ringbolt. My brother was at the stern, holding on to a small 
empty water cask which had been securely lashed under 
the coop of the counter, and was the only thing on deck 
that had not been swept overboard when the gale first took 
us. As we approached the brink of the pit he let go his hold 
upon this, and made for the ring, from which, in the agony 
of his terror, he endeavored to force my hands, as it was not 
large enough to afford us both a secure grasp. I never felt 
deeper grief than when I saw him attempt this act — although 
I knew he was a madman when he did it — a raving maniac 
through sheer fright. I did not care, however, to contest 
the point with him. I knew it could make no difference 
whether either of us held on at all; so I let him have the bolt, 
and went astern to the cask. This there was no great diffi- 
culty in doing; for the smack flew round steadily enough, 
and upon an even keel — only swaying to and fro, with the 
immense sweeps and swelters of the whirl. Scarcely had I 
secured myself in my new position, when we gave a wild 
lurch to starboard, and rushed headlong into the abyss. 
I muttered a hurried prayer to God, and thought all was over. 

"As I felt the sickening sweep of the descent, I had instinc- 
tively tightened my hold upon the barrel, and closed my eyes. 
For some seconds I dared not open them — while I expected 
instant destruction, and wondered that I was not already in 
my death struggles with the water. But moment after mo- 



A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 95 

ment elapsed. I still lived. The sense of falling had ceased; 
and the motion of the vessel seemed much as it had been 
before, while in the belt of foam, with the exception that 
she now lay more along. I took courage and looked once 
again upon the scene. 

"Never shall I forget the sensations of awe, horror, and 
admiration with which I gazed about me. The boat appeared 
to be hanging, as if by magic, midway down, upon the in- 
terior surface of a funnel vast in circumference, prodigious 
in depth, and whose perfectly smooth sides might have been 
mistaken for ebony, but for the bewildering rapidity with 
which they spun around, and for the gleaming and ghastly 
radiance they shot forth, as the rays of the full moon, from 
that circular rift amid the clouds, which I have already de- 
scribed, streamed in a flood of golden glory along the black 
walls, and far away down into the inmost recesses of the abyss. 

"At first I was too much confused to observe anything 
accurately. The general burst of terrific grandeur was all 
that I beheld. When I recovered myself a little, however, my 
gaze fell instinctively downward. In this direction I was 
able to obtain an unobstructed view, from the manner in 
w T hich the smack hung on the inclined surface of the pool. 
She was quite upon an even keel — that is to say, her deck 
lay in a plane parallel with that of the w 7 ater — but this latter 
sloped at an angle of more than forty-five degrees, so that 
we seemed to be lying upon our beam ends. I could not 
help observing, nevertheless, that I had scarcely more diffi- 
culty in maintaining my hold and footing in this situation, 
than if we had been upon a dead level; and this, I suppose, 
w T as owing to the speed at which we revolved. 

"The rays of the moon seemed to search the very bottom 
of the profound gulf; but still I could make out nothing dis- 
tinctly, on account of a thick mist in which everything there 
was enveloped, and over which there hung a magnificent rain- 
bow, like that narrow and tottering bridge which Mussulmans 
say is the only pathway between Time and Eternity. This 



c/> A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 

mist, or spray, was no doubt occasioned by the clashing of the 
great walls of the funnel, as they all met together at the 
bottom — but the yell that went up to the heavens from out 
of that mist, I dare not attempt to describe. 

"Our first slide into the abyss itself, from the belt of foam 
above, had carried us to a great distance down the slope; but 
our farther descent was by no means proportionate. Round 
and round we swept — not with any uniform movement but 
in dizzy swings and jerks, that sent us sometimes only a few 
hundred yards — sometimes nearly the complete circuit of 
the whirl. Our progress downward, at each revolution, was 
slow T , but very perceptible. 

"Looking about me upon the wide waste of liquid ebony 
on which .we were thus borne, I perceived that our boat was 
not the only object in the embrace of the whirl. Both above 
and below us were visible fragments of vessels, large masses 
of building timber and trunks of trees, with many smaller 
articles, such as pieces of house furniture, broken boxes, 
barrels, and staves. I have already described the unnatural 
curiosity which had taken the place of my original terrors. 
It appeared to grow upon me as I drew nearer and nearer 
to my dreadful doom. I now began to watch, with a strange 
interest, the numerous things that floated in our company. 
I must have been delirious — for I even sought amusement 
in speculating upon the relative velocities of their several 
descents toward the foam below. 'This fir tree/ I found 
myself at one time saying, 'will certainly be the next thing 
that takes the awful plunge and disappears,' — and then I 
was disappointed to find that the wreck of a Dutch merchant 
ship overtook it and went down before. At length, after 
making several guesses of this nature, and being deceived 
in all — this fact — the fact of my invariable miscalculation, 
set me upon a train of reflection that made my limbs again 
tremble, and my heart beat heavily once more. 

"It was not a new terror that thus affected me, but the 
dawn of a more exciting hope. This hope arose partly from 



A DESCEXT INTO THE MAELSTROM 97 

memory? and partly from present observation. I called to 
mind the great variety of buoyant matter that strewed the 
coast of Lofoden, having been absorbed and then thrown forth 
by the Moskoe-strom. By far the greater number of the arti- 
cles were shattered in the most extraordinary way — so chafed 
and roughened as to have the appearance of being stuck full 
of splinters — but then I distinctly recollected that there were 
some of them which were not disfigured at all. Now I could 
not account for this difference except by supposing that the 
roughened fragments were the only ones which had been com- 
pletely absorbed — that the others had entered the whirl at so 
late a period of the tide, or, from some reason, had descended 
so slowly after entering, that they did not reach the bottom 
before the turn of the flood came, or of the ebb, as the case 
might be. I conceived it possible, in either instance, that 
they might thus be whirled up again to the level of the ocean, 
without undergoing the fate of those which had been drawn 
in more early or absorbed more rapidly. I made, also, three 
important observations. The first was, that as a general rule, 
the larger the bodies were, the more rapid their descent; the 
second, that, between two masses of equal extent, the one 
spherical, and the other of any other shape, the superiority in 
speed of descent was with the sphere; the third, that, between 
two masses of equal size, the one cylindrical, and the other of 
any other shape, the cylinder was absorbed the more slowly. 
Since my escape, I have had several conversations on this 
subject with an old schoolmaster of the district; and it w 7 as 
from him that I learned the use of the words ( cylinder' and 
'sphere.' He explained to me — -although I have forgotten 
the explanation — how what I observed was, in fact, the 
natural consequence of the forms of the floating fragments, 
and showed me how it happened that a cylinder, swimming 
in a vortex, offered more resistance to its suction, and was 
drawn in with greater difficulty, than an equally bulky body, 
of any form whatever. 

"There was one startling circumstance which went a great 



9S A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 

way in enforcing these observations, and rendering me anx- 
ious to turn them to account, and this was that, at every 
revolution, we passed something like a barrel, or else the yard 
or the mast of a vessel, while many of these things, which had 
been on our level when I first opened my eyes upon the won- 
ders of the whirlpool, were now high up above us, and seemed 
to have moved but little from their original station. 

"I no longer hesitated what to do. I resolved to lash my- 
self securely to the water cask upon which I now held, to cut 
it loose from the counter, and to throw myself with it into the 
water. I attracted my brother's attention by signs, pointed 
to the floating barrels that came near us, and did everything 
in my power to make him understand what I was about to do. 
I thought at length that he comprehended my design — but, 
whether this was the case or not, he shook his head despair- 
ingly, and refused to move from his station by the ringbolt. 
It was impossible to reach him; the emergency admitted of 
no delay; and so, with a bitter struggle, I resigned him to his 
fate, fastened myself to the cask by means of the lashings 
which secured it to the counter, and precipitated myself with 
it into the sea, without another moment's hesitation. 

"The result was precisely what I had hoped it might be. 
As it is myself w 7 ho now tell you this tale — as you see that I 
did escape — and as you are already in possession of the mode 
in which this escape was effected, and must therefore antici- 
pate all that I have farther to say — I will bring my story 
quickly to conclusion. It might have been an hour, or 
thereabout, after my quitting the smack, when, having de- 
scended to a vast distance beneath me, it made three or four 
wild gyrations in rapid succession, and, bearing my loved 
brother with it, plunged headlong, at once and forever, into 
the chaos of foam below. The barrel to which I was at- 
tached sunk very little farther than half the distance between 
the bottom of the gulf and the spot at which I leaped over- 
board, before a great change took place in the character of 
the whirlpool. The slope of the sides of the vast funnel 



A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 99 

became momently less and less steep. The gyrations of the 
whirl grew, gradually, less and less violent. By degrees, 
the froth and the rainbow disappeared, and the bottom of 
the gulf seemed slowly to uprise. The sky was clear, the 
winds had gone down, and the full moon was setting radiantly 
in the west, when I found myself on the surface of the ocean, 
in full view of the shores of Lofoden, and above the spot 
where the pool of the Moskoe-strom had been. It was the 
hour of the slack, but the sea still heaved in mountainous 
waves from the effects of the hurricane. I was borne violently 
into the channel of the Strom, and in a few minutes was hur- 
ried down the coast into the 'grounds' of the fishermen. A 
boat picked me up — exhausted from fatigue — and (now that 
the danger was removed) speechless from the memory of its 
horror. Those who drew me on board were my old mates 
and daily companions, but they knew me no more than they 
would have known a traveler from the spirit land. My hair, 
which had been raven-black the day before, was as white 
as you see it now. They say, too, that the whole expression 
of my countenance had changed. I told them my story — 
they did not believe it. I now tell it to you — and I can 
scarcely expect you to put more faith in it than did the merry 
fishermen of Lofoden." 



THE GOLDBUG 

What ho! what ho! this fellow is dancing mad! 
He hath been bitten by the Tarantula. 

All in the Wrong. 

Many years ago, I contracted an intimacy with a Mr. 
\\ illiam Legrand. He was of an ancient Huguenot family, 
and had once been wealthy; but a series of misfortunes had 
reduced him to want. To avoid the mortification consequent 
upon his disasters, he left New Orleans, the city of his fore- 
fathers, and took up his residence at Sullivan's Island, near 
Charleston, South Carolina. 

This island is a very singular one. It consists of little else 
than the sea sand, and is about three miles long. Its breadth 
at no point exceeds a quarter of a mile. It is separated from 
the mainland by a scarcely perceptible creek, oozing its 
way through a wilderness of reeds and slime, a favorite re- 
sort of the marsh hen. The vegetation, as might be supposed, 
is scant, or at least dwarfish. No trees of any magnitude 
are to be seen. Near the western extremity, where Fort 
Moultrie stands, and where are some miserable frame build- 
ings, tenanted during summer by the fugitives from Charles- 
ton dust and fever, may be found, indeed, the bristly palmetto; 
but the whole island, with the exception of this western 
point, and a line of hard white beach on the seacoast, 
is covered with a dense undergrowth of the sweet myrtle, 
so much prized by the horticulturists of England. The 
shrub here often attains the height of fifteen or twenty feet, 
and forms an almost impenetrable coppice, burdening the 
air with its fragrance. 

In the utmost recesses of this coppice, not far from the 
eastern or more remote end of the island, Legrand had built 

ioo 



THE GOLDBUG IOI 

himself a small hut, which he occupied when I first, by mere 
accident, made his acquaintance. This soon ripened into 
friendship — for there was much in the recluse to excite in- 
terest and esteem. I found him well educated, with unusual 
powers of mind, but infected with misanthropy, and subject 
to perverse moods of alternate enthusiasm and melancholy. 
He had with him many books, but rarely employed them. 
His chief amusements were gunning and fishing, or saunter- 
ing along the beach and through the myrtles in quest of shells 
or entomological specimens; — his collection of the latter 
might have been envied by a Swammerdamm. w In these 
excursions he was usually accompanied by an old negro, 
called Jupiter, who had been manumitted before the reverses 
of the family, but who could be induced, neither by threats 
nor by promises, to abandon what he considered his right 
of attendance upon the footsteps of his young "Massa Will." 
It is not improbable that the relatives of Legrand, conceiving 
him to be somewhat unsettled in intellect, had contrived to 
instill this obstinacy into Jupiter, with a view to the super- 
vision and guardianship of the wanderer. 

The winters in the latitude of Sullivan's Island are seldom 
very severe, and in the fall of the year it is a rare event in- 
deed when a fire is considered necessary. About the middle 
of October, 18 — , there occurred, however, a day of remark- 
able chilliness. Just before sunset I scrambled my way 
through the evergreens to the hut of my friend, whom I 
had not visited for several w r eeks — my residence being at 
that time in Charleston, a distance of nine miles from the 
island, while the facilities of passage and repassage were 
very far behind those of the present day. Upon reaching 
the hut I rapped, as was my custom, and, getting no reply, 
sought for the key where I knew it was secreted, unlocked 
the door and went in. A fine fire was blazing upon the hearth. 
It was a novelty, and by no means an ungrateful one. I 
threw off an overcoat, took an armchair by the crackling 
logs, and awaited patiently the arrival of my hosts. 



102 THE GOLD BUG 

m after dark they arrived, and gave me a most cordial 
welcome. Jupiter, grinning from ear to ear, bustled about 
to prepare some marsh hens for supper. Legrand was in 
one of his fits — how else shall I term them? — of enthusiasm. 
He had found an unknown bivalve, forming a new genus, 
and, more than this, he had hunted down and secured, with 
Jupiter's assistance, a scarabceus which he believed to be 
totally new, but in respect to which he wished to have my 
opinion on the morrow. 

"And why not to-night?" I asked, rubbing my hands 
over the blaze, and wishing the whole tribe of scarabcei at 
the devil. 

"Ah, if I had only known you were here!" said Legrand, 
"but it's so long since I saw you; and how could I foresee 
that you would pay me a visit this very night of all others? 

As I was coming home I met Lieutenant G , from the 

fort, and, very foolishly, I lent him the bug; so it will be 
impossible for you to see it until the morning. Stay here to- 
night, and I will send Jup down for it at sunrise. It is the 
loveliest thing in creation!" 

"What?— sunrise?" 

"Nonsense! no! — the bug. It is of a brilliant gold color — 
about the size of a large hickory nut — with two jet-black 
spots near one extremity of the back, and another, somewhat 
longer, at the other. The antennce are — " 

"Dey aint no tin in him, Massa Will, I keep a tellin on 
you," here interrupted Jupiter; "de bug is a goolebug, 
solid, ebery bit of him, inside and all, sep him wing — neber 
feel half so hebby a bug in my life." 

"Well, suppose it is, Jup," replied Legrand, somewhat 
more earnestly, it seemed to me, than the case demanded, 
"is that any reason for your letting the birds burn? The 
color" — here he turned to me — "is really almost enough to 
warrant Jupiter's idea. You never saw a more brilliant 
metallic luster than the scales emit — but of this you cannot 
judge till to-morrow. In the meantime I can give you some 



THE GOLDBUG 103 

idea of the shape." Saying this, he seated himself at a small 
table, on which were a pen and ink, but no paper. He looked 
for some in a drawer, but found none. 

"Never mind," said he at length, "this will answer"; 
and he drew from his waistcoat pocket a scrap of what I 
took to be very dirty foolscap, and made upon it a rough 
drawing with the pen. While he did this, I retained my 
seat by the fire, for I was still chilly. When the design was 
complete, he handed it to me without rising. As I received 
it, a low growl was heard, succeeded by a scratching at the 
door. Jupiter opened it, and a large Newfoundland, belong- 
ing to Legrand, rushed in, leaped upon my shoulders, and 
loaded me with caresses; for I had shown him much atten- 
tion during previous visits. When his gambols were over, 
I looked at the paper, and, to speak the truth, found myself 
not a little puzzled at what my friend had depicted. 

"Well!" I said, after contemplating it for some minutes, 
"this is a strange scarabceus, I must confess; new to me; 
never saw anything like it before — unless it was a skull, 
or a death's-head, which it more nearly resembles than any 
thing else that has come under my observation." 

"A death's-head!" echoed Legrand — "oh — yes — well, 
it has something of that appearance upon paper, no doubt. 
The two upper black spots look like eyes, eh? and the longer 
one at the bottom like a mouth — and then the shape of the 
whole is oval." 

"Perhaps so," said I; "but, Legrand, I fear you are no 
artist. I must wait until I see the beetle itself, if I am to 
form any idea of its personal appearance." 

"Well, I don't know," said he, a little nettled, "I draw 
tolerably — should do it at least — have had good masters, 
and flatter myself that I am, not quite a blockhead." 

"But, my dear fellow, you are joking then," said I; "this 
is a very passable skull, — indeed, I may say that it is a very 
excellent skull, according to the vulgar notions about such 
specimens of physiology — and your scarabceus must be the 



104 THE GOLD BUG 

queerest scarabecus in the world if it resembles it. Why, 
we may get up a very thrilling bit of superstition upon this 
hint. I presume you will call the bug scarabceus caput homi- 
niSy or something of that kind — there are many similar titles 
in the Natural Histories. But where are the antennce you 
spoke of?" 

"The antenna?!" said Legrand, who seemed to be getting 
unaccountably warm upon the subject; "I am sure you must 
see the antennce. I made them as distinct as they are in the 
original insect, and I presume that is sufficient." 

"Well, well," I said, "perhaps you have — still I don't 
see them"; and I handed him the paper without additional 
remark, not wishing to ruffle his temper; but I was much 
surprised at the turn affairs had taken; his ill humor puzzled 
me — and as for the drawing of the beetle, there were posi- 
tively no antennce visible, and the whole did bear a very close 
resemblance to the ordinary cuts of a death's-head. 

He received the paper very peevishly, and was about to 
crumple it, apparently to throw it in the fire, when a casual 
glance at the design seemed suddenly to rivet his attention. 
In an instant his face grew violently red — in another as ex- 
cessively pale. For some minutes he continued to scruti- 
nize the drawing minutely where he sat. At length he arose, 
took a candle from the table, and proceeded to seat himself 
upon a sea chest in the farthest corner of the room. Here 
again he made an anxious examination of the paper; turn- 
ing it in all directions. He said nothing, however, and his 
conduct greatly astonished me; yet I thought it prudent 
not to exacerbate the growing moodiness of his temper by 
any comment. Presently he took from his coat pocket a 
wallet, placed the paper carefully in it, and deposited both 
in a writing desk, which he locked. He now grew more 
composed in his demeanor; but his original air of enthu- 
siasm had quite disappeared. Yet he seemed not so much 
sulky as abstracted. As the evening wore away he became 
more and more absorbed in reverie, from which no sallies of 



THE GOLDBUG 105 

mine could arouse him. It had been my intention to pass 
the night at the hut, as I had frequently done before, but, 
seeing my host in this mood, I deemed it proper to take leave. 
He did not press me to remain, but, as I departed, he shook 
my hand with even more than his usual cordiality. 

It was about a month after this (and during the interval 
I had seen nothing of Legrand) when I received a visit, at 
Charleston, from his man, Jupiter. I had never seen the 
good old negro look so dispirited, and I feared that some 
serious disaster had befallen my friend. 

"Well, Jup," said I, "what is the matter now? — how is 
your master?" 

"Why, to speak de troof, massa, him not so berry well as 
mought be." 

"Not well! I am truly sorry to hear it. What does he 
complain of?" 

"Dar! dat's it! — him neber plain of notin — but him berry 
sick for all dat." 

"Very sick, Jupiter! — why didn't you say so at once? 
Is he confined to bed?" 

"No, dat he aint! — he aint find nowhar — dat's just whar 
de shoe pinch — my mind is got to be berry hebby bout poor 
Massa Will." 

"Jupiter, I should like to understand what it is you are 
talking about. You say your master is sick. Hasn't he told 
you what ails him?" 

"Why, massa, taint worf while for to git mad bout de 
matter — Massa Will say nofHn at all aint de matter wid him — 
but den what make him go bout looking dis here way, wid 
he head down and he soldiers up, and as white as a gose? 
And then he keep a syphon all de time — " 

"Keeps a what, Jupiter?" 

"Keeps a syphon w r id de figgurs on de slate — de queerest 
figgurs I ebber did see. Ise gittin to be skeered, I tell you. 
Hab for to keep mighty tight eye pon him noovers. Todder 
day he gib me slip fore de sun up and was gone de whole ob 



106 THE GOLD BUG 

de blessed day. I. had a big stick ready cut for to gib him 

d d good beating when he did come — but Ise sich a fool 

dat I hadn't de heart arter all — he look so berry poorly." 

"Eh? — what? — ah, yes! — upon the whole I think you 
had better not be too severe with the poor fellow — don't 
flog him, Jupiter — he can't very well stand it — but can you 
form no idea of what has occasioned this illness, or rather 
this change of conduct? Has anything unpleasant happened 
since I saw you?" 

"No, massa, dey aint bin noffin onpleasant since den — 
'twas fore den I'm feared — 'twas de berry day you was 
dare." 

"How? what do you mean?" 

"Why, massa, I mean de bug — dare now." 

"The what?" 

"De bug — I'm berry sartain dat Massa Will bin bit some- 
where bout de head by dat goolebug." 

"And what cause have you, Jupiter, for such a supposi- 
tion?" 

"Claws enufF, massa, and mouff too. I nebber did see 

sich a d d bug — he kick and he bite every ting what cum 

near him. Massa Will cotch him fuss, but had for to let 
him go gin mighty quick, I tell you — den was de time he 
must ha got de bite. I didn't like de look ob de bug mouff, 
myself, no how, so I wouldn't take hold ob him wid my 
finger, but I cotch him wid a piece ob paper dat I found. I 
rap him up in de paper and stuff piece ob it in he mouff — 
dat was de way." 

"And you think, then, that your master was really bitten 
by the beetle, and that the bite made him sick?" 

"I don't tink noffin about it — I nose it. What make him 
dream bout de goole so much, if taint cause he bit by de 
goolebug? Ise heerd bout dem goolebugs fore dis." 

"But how do you know he dreams about gold?" 

"How I know? why, cause he talk about it in he sleep — ■ 
dat's how I nose." 






THE GOLDBUG 107 

"Well, Jup, perhaps you are right; but to what fortunate 
circumstances am I to attribute the honor of a visit from 
you to-day?" 

"What de matter, massa?" 

"Did you bring any message from Mr. Legrand?" 

"No, massa, I bring dis here pissel"; and here Jupiter 
handed me a note which ran thus: 

My dear : Why have I not seen you for so long a time? 

I hope you have not been so foolish as to take offense at any little 
brusquerie of mine; but no, that is improbable. 

Since I saw you I have had great cause for anxiety. I have 
something to tell you, yet scarcely know how to tell it, or whether 
I should tell it at all. 

I have not been quite well for some days past, and poor old Jup 
annoys me, almost beyond endurance, by his well-meant attentions. 
Would you believe it? — he had prepared a huge stick, the other 
day, with which to chastise me for giving him the slip, and spending 
the day, solus, among the hills on the mainland. I verily believe 
that my ill looks alone saved me a flogging. 

I have made no addition to my cabinet since we met. 

If you can, in any way, make it convenient, come over with Jupi- 
ter. Do come. I wish to see you to-night, upon business of impor- 
tance. I assure you that it is of the highest importance. 

Ever yours, 

William Legrand. 

There was something in the tone of this note which gave 
me great uneasiness. Its whole style differed materially 
from that of Legrand. What could he be dreaming of? 
What new crotchet possessed his excitable brain? What 
"business of the highest importance" could he possibly have 
to transact? Jupiter's account of him boded no good. I 
dreaded lest the continued pressure of misfortune had, at 
length, fairly unsettled the reason of my friend. Without 
a moment's hesitation, therefore, I prepared to accompany 
the negro. 



ioS THE GOLDBUG 

Upon reaching the wharf, I noticed a scythe and three 
spades, all apparently new, lying in the bottom of the boat 
in which we were to embark. 

"What is the meaning of all this, Jup?" I inquired. 

"Him syfe, massa, and spade. " 

"Very true; but what are they doing here?" 

"Him de syfe and de spade what Massa Will sis pon my 
buying for him in de town, and de debbiPs own lot of money 
I had to gib for em." 

"But what, in the name of all that is mysterious, is your 
'Massa Will' going to do with scythes and spades?" 

"Dat's more dan / know, and debbil take me if I don't 
blieve 'tis more dan he know, too. But it's all cum ob de bug." 

Finding that no satisfaction was to be obtained by Jupiter, 
whose whole intellect seemed to be absorbed by "de bug," I 
now stepped into the boat and made sail. With a fair and 
strong breeze we soon ran into the little cove to the northward 
of Fort Moultrie, and a walk of some two miles brought us to 
the hut. It w T as about three in the afternoon when we ar- 
rived. Legrand had been awaiting us in eager expectation. 
He grasped my hand with a nervous empressement, which 
alarmed me and strengthened the suspicions already enter- 
tained. His countenance was pale even to ghastliness, and 
his deep-set eyes glared with unnatural luster. After some 
inquiries respecting his health, I asked him, not knowing 
what better to say, if he had yet obtained the scarabceus from 
Lieutenant G . 

"Oh, yes," he replied, coloring violently, "I got it from 
him the next morning. Nothing should tempt me to part 
with that scarabceus. Do you know that Jupiter is quite 
right about it?" 

"In what way?" I asked, with a sad foreboding at heart. 

"In supposing it to be a bug of real gold" He said this 
with an air of profound seriousness, and I felt inexpressibly 
shocked. 

"This bug is to make my fortune," he continued, with a 



THE GOLDBUG 109 

triumphant smile, "to reinstate me in my family possessions. 
Is it any wonder, then, that I prize it? Since Fortune has 
thought fit to bestow it upon me, I have only to use it properly 
and I shall arrive at the gold of which it is the index. Jupiter, 
bring me that scarabczusl " 

"What! de bug, massa? I'd rudder not go fer trubble 
dat bug — you mus git him for your own self." Hereupon 
Legrand arose, with a grave and stately air, and brought me 
the beetle from a glass case in which it was inclosed. It was a 
beautiful scarabczus, and, at that time, unknown to natu- 
ralists — of course a great prize in a scientific point of view. 
There were two round, black spots near one extremity of the 
back, and a long one near the other. The scales were ex- 
ceedingly hard and glossy, with all the appearance of bur- 
nished gold. The weight of the insect was very remarkable, 
and, taking all things into consideration, I could hardly 
blame Jupiter for his opinion respecting it; but what to make 
of Legrand's agreement with that opinion, I could not, for 
the life of me, tell. 

"I sent for you," said he, in a grandiloquent tone, when I 
had completed my examination of the beetle, "I sent for 
you that I might have your counsel and assistance in further- 
ing the views of Fate and of the bug — " 

"My dear Legrand," I cried, interrupting him, "you are 
certainly unwell, and had better use some little precautions. 
You shall go to bed, and I will remain with you a few days, 
until you get over this. You are feverish and — " 

"Feel my pulse," said he. 

I felt it, and, to say the truth, found not the slightest 
indication of fever. 

"But you may be ill, and yet have no fever. Allow me 
this once to prescribe for you. In the first place, go to bed. 
In the next — " 

"You are mistaken," he interposed, "I am as well as I 
can expect to be under the excitement which I suffer. If 
you really wish me well, you will relieve this excitement." 



no THE COLD BIG 

"And how is this to be done?" 

"Very easily. Jupiter and myself are going upon an ex- 
peditioil into the hills, upon the mainland, and, in this ex- 
pedition, we shall need the aid of some person in whom we 
can confide. You are the only one we can trust. Whether 
we succeed or fail, the excitement which you now perceive 
in me will be equally allayed." 

"I am anxious to oblige you in any way," I replied; "but 
do you mean to say that this infernal beetle has any connec- 
tion with your expedition into the hills?" 

"It has." 

"Then, Legrand, I can become a party to no such absurd 
proceeding." 

"I am sorry — very sorry — for we shall have to try it by 
ourselves." 

"Try it by yourselves! The man is surely mad! — but stay 
— how long do you propose to be absent?" 

"Probably all night. We shall start immediately, and 
be back, at all events, by sunrise." 

"And will you promise me, upon your honor, that when 
this freak of yours is over, and the bug business (good God!) 
settled to your satisfaction, you will then return home and 
follow my advice implicitly, as that of your physician?" 

"Yes; I promise; and now let us be off, for w T e have no 
time to lose." 

With a heavy heart I accompanied my friend. We started 
about four o'clock — Legrand, Jupiter, the dog, and myself. 
Jupiter had with him the scythe and spades — the whole 
of which he insisted upon carrying, more through fear, it 
seemed to me, of trusting either of the implements within 
reach of his master, than from any excess of industry or 
complaisance. His demeanor was dogged in the extreme, and 

"dat d d bug" were the sole words which escaped his 

lips during the journey. For my own part, I had charge of 
a couple of dark lanterns, while Legrand contented himself 
with the scarabceusj which he carried attached to the end 






THE GOLDBUG III 

of a bit of whipcord, twirling it to and fro, with the air of a 
conjuror, as he went. When I observed this last, plain evi- 
dence of my friend's aberration of mind, I could scarcely 
refrain from tears. I thought it best, how T ever, to humor 
his fancy, at least for the present, or until I could adopt some 
more energetic measures with a chance of success. In the 
meantime I endeavored, but all in vain, to sound him in 
regard to the object of the expedition. Having succeeded 
in inducing me to accompany him, he seemed unwilling to 
hold conversation upon any topic of minor importance, 
and to all my questions vouchsafed no other reply than" We 
shall see!" 

We crossed the creek at the head of the island by means 
of a skiff, and, ascending the high grounds on the shore of the 
mainland, proceeded in a northwesterly direction, through 
a tract of country excessively wild and desolate, where no 
trace of a human footstep was to be seen. Legrand led the 
way with decision; pausing only for an instant, here and there, 
to consult what appeared to be certain landmarks of his own 
contrivance upon a former occasion. 

In this manner we journeyed for about two hours, and the 
sun was just setting when we entered a region infinitely 
more dreary than any yet seen. It was a species of table- 
land, near the summit of an almost inaccessible hill, densely 
wooded from base to pinnacle, and interspersed with huge 
crags that appeared to lie loosely upon the soil, and in many 
cases were prevented from precipitating themselves into the 
valleys below merely by the support of the trees against 
which they reclined. Deep ravines, in various directions, 
gave an air of still sterner solemnity to the scene. 

The natural platform to which we had clambered was 
thickly overgrown with brambles, through which we soon 
discovered that it would have been impossible to force our 
way but for the scythe; and Jupiter, by direction of his 
master, proceeded to clear for us a path to the foot of an 
enormously tall tulip tree, which stood, with some eight or 



U2 THE GOLDBUG 

ten oaks, upon the level, and far surpassed them all, and all 
other trees which 1 had then ever seen, in the beauty of its 
foliage and form, in the wide spread of its branches, and in 
the general majesty of its appearance. When we reached this 
tree, Legrand turned to Jupiter, and asked him if he thought 
he could climb it. The old man seemed a little staggered 
by the question, and for some moments made no reply. At 
length he approached the huge trunk, walked slowly around 
it, and examined it with minute attention. When he had 
completed his scrutiny, he merely said: 

" Yes, massa, Jup climb any tree he ebber see in he life." 

"Then up with you as soon as possible, for it will soon be 
too dark to see what we are about. " 

"How far mus go up, massa?" inquired Jupiter. 

"Get up the main trunk first, and then I will tell you 
which way to go — and here — stop! take this beetle with 
you." 

"De bug, Massa Will! — de goolebug!" cried the negro, 
drawing back in dismay — "what for mus tote de bug way 
up de tree? — d — n if I do!" 

"If you are afraid, Jup, a great big negro like you, to take 
hold of a harmless little dead beetle, why, you can carry it 
up by this string — but, if you do not take it up with you in 
some way, I shall be under the necessity of breaking your 
head with this shovel." 

"What de matter now, massa?" said Jup, evidently 
shamed into compliance; "always want fur to raise fuss 
wid old nigger. Was only funnin anyhow. Me feered de 
bug! what I keer for de bug?" Here he took cautiously 
hold of the extreme end of the string, and, maintaining the 
insect as far from his person as circumstances would permit, 
prepared to ascend the tree. 

In youth, the tulip tree, or Liriodendron tulipifera, the 
most magnificent of American foresters, has a trunk pecu- 
liarly smooth, and often rises to a great height without lateral 
branches; but, in its riper age, the bark becomes gnarled and 



THE GOLD BUG 1 13 

uneven, while many short limbs make their appearance on 
the stem. Thus the difficulty of ascension, in the present 
case, lay more in semblance than in reality. Embracing 
the huge cylinder, as closely as possible, with his arms and 
knees, seizing with his hands some projections, and resting 
his naked toes upon others, Jupiter, after one or two narrow 
escapes from falling, at length wriggled himself into the first 
great fork, and seemed to consider the w T hole business as 
virtually accomplished. The risk of the achievement was, 
in fact, now over, although the climber was some sixty or 
seventy feet from the ground. 

"Which way mus go now, Massa Will?" he asked. 

"Keep up the largest branch, — the one on this side," 
said Legrand. The negro obeyed him promptly, and appar- 
ently with but little trouble, ascending higher and higher, 
until no glimpse of his squat figure could be obtained through 
the dense foliage which enveloped it. Presently his voice 
was heard in a sort of halloo. 

"How much fudder is got for go?" 

"How high up are you?" asked Legrand. 

"Ebber so fur," replied the negro; "can see de sky fru 
de top ob de tree." 

"Never mind the sky, but attend to what I say. Look 
down the trunk and count the limbs below you on this side. 
How many limbs have you passed?" 

"One, two, tree, four, fibe — I done pass fibe big limb, 
massa, pon dis side." 

"Then go one limb higher." 

In a few minutes the voice was heard again, announcing 
that the seventh limb was attained. 

"Now, Jup," cried Legrand, evidently much excited, "I 
want you to work your way out upon that limb as far as you 
can. If you see anything strange, let me know." 

By this time what little doubt I might have entertained 
of my poor friend's insanity was put finally at rest. I had 
no alternative but to conclude him stricken with lunacy, 



114 THE GOLD BUG 

and I became seriously anxious about getting him home. 
\\ hile I was pondering upon what was best to be done, 
Jupiter's voice was again heard. 

"Mos feerd for to ventur pon dis limb berry far — 'tis 
dead limb putty much all de way." 

"Did you say it was a dead limb, Jupiter?" cried Legrand 
in a quavering voice. 

"Yes, massa, him dead as de doornail — done up for sar- 
tain — done departed dis here life." 

"What in the name of heaven shall I do?" asked Legrand, 
seemingly in the greatest distress. 

"Do!" said I, glad of an opportunity to interpose a word, 
"why come home and go to bed. Come now! — that's a 
fine fellow. It's getting late, and, besides, you remember 
your promise." 

"Jupiter," cried he, without heeding me in the least, "do 
you hear me?" 

"Yes, Massa Will, hear you ebber so plain." 

"Try the wood well, then, with your knife, and see if you 
think it very rotten." 

"Him rotten, massa, sure nufF," replied the negro in a 
few moments, "but not so berry rotten as mought be. 
Mought ventur out leetle way pon de limb by myself, dat's 
true. 

"By yourself! — what do you mean?" 

"Why, I mean de bug. 'Tis berry hebby bug. Spose 
I drop him down fuss, and den de limb won't break wid just 
de weight ob one nigger." 

"You infernal scoundrel!" cried Legrand, apparently 
much relieved, "what do you mean by telling me such non- 
sense as that? As sure as you let that beetle fall, I'll break 
your neck. Look here, Jupiter! do you hear me?" 

"Yes, massa, needn't hollo at poor nigger dat style." 

"Well! now listen! — if you will venture out on the limb 
as far as you think safe, and not let go the beetle, I'll make 
you a present of a silver dollar as soon as you get down." 



THE GOLD BUG 115 

"I'm gwine, Massa Will — deed I is," replied the negro 
very promptly — "mos out to the eend now?" 

"Out to the end!" here fairly screamed Legrand, "do you 
say you are out to the end of that limb ? " 

"Soon be to the eend, massa, — 0-0-0-0-oh! Lor-gol-a- 
marcy! what is dis here pon de tree?" 

"Well!" cried Legrand, highly delighted, "what is it?" 

"Why taint nuffin but a skull — somebody bin lef him head 
up de tree, and de crows done gobble ebery bit ob de meat 
off." 

"A skull, you say! — very well! — how is it fastened to 
the limb? — what holds it on?" 

"Sure nuff, massa; mus look. Why, dis berry curous 
sarcumstance, pon my word — dare's a great big nail in de 
skull, what fastens ob it on to de tree." 

"Well now, Jupiter, do exactly as I tell you — do you hear?" 

"\es, massa." 

"Pay attention, then! — find the left eye of the skull." 

"Hum! hoo! dat's good! why, dar aint no eye lef at all." 

"Curse your stupidity! do you know your right hand from 
your left?" 

"Yes, I nose dat — nose all bout dat — 'tis my lef hand what 
I chops de wood wid." 

"To be sure! you are left-handed; and your left eye is 
on the same side as your left hand. Now, I suppose, you 
can find the left eye of the skull, or the place where the left 
eye has been. Have you found it?" 

Here was a long pause. At length the negro asked, "Is 
de lef eye of de skull pon de same side as de lef hand of de 
skull, too? — cause de skull aint got not a bit ob a hand at 
all — nebber mind! I got de lef eye now — here de lef eye! 
what mus do wid it?" 

"Let the beetle drop through it, as far as the string will 
reach — but be careful and not let go your hold of the string." 

"All dat done, Massa Will; mighty easy ting for to put 
de bug fru de hole — look out for him dar below!" 



Il6 THE GOLDBUG 

During this colloquy no portion of Jupiter's person could 
be seen; but the beetle, which he had suffered to descend, 
was now visible at the end of the string, and glistened like 
a globe of burnished gold in the last rays of the setting sun, 
some of which still faintly illumined the eminence upon which 
we stood. The scarabccus hung quite clear of any branches, 
and, if allowed to fall, would have fallen at our feet. Legrand 
immediately took the scythe, and cleared with it a circular 
space, three or four yards in diameter, just beneath the insect, 
and, having accomplished this, ordered Jupiter to let go the 
string and come down from the tree. 

Driving a peg, with great nicety, into the ground at the 
precise spot where the beetle fell, my friend now produced 
from his pocket a tape measure. Fastening one end of this 
at that point of the trunk of the tree which was nearest 
the peg, he unrolled it till it reached the peg, and thence 
farther unrolled it, in the direction already established by 
the two points of the tree and the peg, for the distance of 
fifty feet — Jupiter clearing away the brambles with the 
scythe. At the spot thus attained a second peg was driven, 
and about this, as a center, a rude circle, about four feet in 
diameter, described. Taking now a spade himself, and giv- 
ing one to Jupiter and one to me, Legrand begged us to set 
about digging as quickly as possible. 

To speak the truth, I had no especial relish for such amuse- 
ment at any time, and, at that particular moment, would 
most willingly have declined it; for the night was coming 
on, and I felt much fatigued with the exercise already taken; 
but I saw no mode of escape, and was fearful of disturbing 
my poor friend's equanimity by a refusal. Could I have 
depended, indeed, upon Jupiter's aid, I would have had no 
hesitation in attempting to get the lunatic home by force; 
but I was too well assured of the old negro's disposition to 
hope that he would assist me, under any circumstances, in 
a personal contest with his master. I made no doubt that 
the latter had been infected with some of the innumerable 



THE GOLD BUG 1 17 

Southern superstitions about money buried, and that his 
fantasy had received confirmation by the finding of the scara- 
bceus, or, perhaps, by Jupiter's obstinacy in maintaining it 
to be "a bug of real gold." A mind disposed to lunacy would 
readily be led away by such suggestions, especially if chim- 
ing in with favorite preconceived ideas; and then I called to 
mind the poor fellow's speech about the beetle's being the 
" index of his fortune." Upon the whole, I was sadly vexed 
and puzzled, but at length I concluded to make a virtue of 
necessity — to dig with a good will, and thus the sooner to 
convince the visionary, by ocular demonstration, of the 
fallacy of the opinions he entertained. 

The lanterns having been lit, we all fell to work with a zeal 
worthy a more rational cause; and, as the glare fell upon 
our persons and implements, I could not help thinking how 
picturesque a group we composed, and how strange and suspi- 
cious our labors must have appeared to any interloper who, 
by chance, might have stumbled upon our whereabouts. 

We dug very steadily for two hours. Little was said; and 
our chief embarrassment lay in the yelpings of the dog, 
who took exceeding interest in our proceedings. He, at 
length, became so obstreperous that we grew fearful of his 
giving the alarm to some stragglers in the vicinity; or, 
rather, this was the apprehension of Legrand; for myself, 
I should have rejoiced at any interruption which might 
have enabled me to get the wanderer home. The noise 
was, at length, very effectually silenced by Jupiter, who, 
getting out of the hole with a dogged air of deliberation, 
tied the brute's mouth up with one of his suspenders, and 
then returned, with a grave chuckle, to his task. 

When the time mentioned had expired, we had reached 
a depth of five feet, and yet no signs of any treasure became 
manifest. A general pause ensued, and I began to hope 
that the farce was at an end. Legrand, however, although 
evidently much disconcerted, wiped his brow thoughtfully 
and recommenced. We had excavated the entire circle of 



Il8 THE GOLDBUG 

tour feet diameter, and now we slightly enlarged the limit, 
and went to the farther depth of two feet. Still nothing ap- 
peared. The gold seeker, whom I sincerely pitied, at length 
clambered from the pit, with the bitterest disappointment 
imprinted upon every feature, and proceeded, slowly and 
reluctantly, to put on his coat, which he had thrown off 
at the beginning of his labor. In the meantime I made no 
remark. Jupiter, at a signal from his master, began to gather 
up his tools. This done, and the dog having been unmuzzled, 
we turned in profound silence towards home. 

We had taken, perhaps, a dozen steps in this direction, 
when, with a loud oath, Legrand strode up to Jupiter, and 
seized him by the collar. The astonished negro opened his 
eyes and mouth to the fullest extent, let fall the spades, and 
fell upon his knees. 

"You scoundrel," said Legrand, hissing out the syllables 
from between his clenched teeth — "you infernal black vil- 
lain! — speak, I tell you! — answer me this instant, without 
prevarication! — which — which is your left eye?" 

"Oh, my golly, Massa Will! aint dis here my lef eye for 
sartain?" roared the terrified Jupiter, placing his hand upon 
his right organ of vision, and holding it there with a desperate 
pertinacity, as if in immediate dread of his master's attempt 
at a gouge. 

"I thought so! I knew it! Hurrah!" vociferated Legrand, 
letting the negro go, and executing a series of curvets and 
caracoles, much to the astonishment of his valet, who, arising 
from his knees, looked mutely from his master to myself, 
and then from myself to his master. 

"Come! we must go back," said the latter, "the game's 
not up yet"; and he again led the way to the tulip tree. 

"Jupiter," said he, when we reached its foot, "come here! 
Was the skull nailed to the limb with the face outward, or 
with the face to the limb?" 

"De face was out, massa, so dat de crows could get at de 
eyes good, widout any trouble." 



THE GOLDBUG lie 1 

"Well, then, was it this eye or that through which you 
dropped the beetle?" here Legrand touched each of Jupiter's 
eyes. 

"Twas dis eye, Massa — de lef eye — jis as you tell me," 
and here it was his right eye that the negro indicated. 

"That will do — we must try it again." 

Here my friend, about whose madness I now saw, or fancied 
that I saw, certain indications of method, removed the peg 
which marked the spot where the beetle fell, to a spot about 
three inches to the westward of its former position. Taking, 
now, the tape measure from the nearest point of the trunk to 
the peg, as before, and continuing the extension in a straight 
line to the distance of fifty feet, a spot was indicated, re- 
moved, by several yards, from the point at which we had 
been digging. 

Around the new position a circle, somewhat larger than 
in the former instance, was now described, and we again 
set to work with the spades. I w T as dreadfully weary, but, 
scarcely understanding what had occasioned the change in 
my thoughts, I felt no longer any great aversion from the 
labor imposed. I had become most unaccountably inter- 
ested — nay, even excited. Perhaps there was something, 
amid all the extravagant demeanor of Legrand — some air of 
forethought, or of deliberation — which impressed me. I 
dug eagerly, and now and then caught myself actually look- 
ing, with something that very much resembled expectation, 
for the fancied treasure, the vision of which had demented 
my unfortunate companion. At a period when such vagaries 
of thought most fully possessed me, and when we had been 
at work perhaps an hour and a half, we w T ere again interrupted 
by the violent howlings of the dog. His uneasiness, in the 
first instance, had been evidently but the result of playfulness 
or caprice, but he now assumed a bitter and serious tone. 
Upon Jupiter's again attempting to muzzle him, he made 
furious resistance, and, leaping into the hole, tore up the 
mold franticallv with his claws. In a few seconds he had 



1 zo THE GOLDBUG 

uncovered a mass of human bones, forming two complete 
skeletons, intermingled with several buttons of metal, and 
what appeared to be the dust of decayed woolen. One or two 
strokes of a spade upturned the blade of a large Spanish 
knife, and, as we dug farther, three or four loose pieces of 
gold and silver coin came to light. 

At sight of these the joy of Jupiter could scarcely be re- 
strained, but the countenance of his master wore an air of 
extreme disappointment. He urged us, however, to continue 
our exertions, and the words were hardly uttered when I 
stumbled and fell forward, having caught the toe of my boot 
in a large ring of iron that lay half buried in the loose earth. 

We now worked in earnest, and never did I pass ten min- 
utes of more intense excitement. During this interval we 
had fairly unearthed an oblong chest of wood, which, from 
its perfect preservation and wonderful hardness, had plainly 
been subjected to some mineralizing process — perhaps that 
of the bichloride of mercury. This box was three feet and a 
half long, three feet broad, and two and a half feet deep. It 
was firmly secured by bands of wrought iron, riveted, and 
forming a kind of trelliswork over the whole. On each side 
of the chest, near the top, were three rings of iron — six in all — 
by means of which a firm hold could be obtained by six per- 
sons. Our utmost united endeavors served only to disturb 
the coffer very slightly in its bed. We at once saw the im- 
possibility of removing so great a weight. Luckily, the sole 
fastenings of the lid consisted of two sliding bolts. These 
we drew back — trembling and panting with anxiety. In an 
instant, a treasure of incalculable value lay gleaming before 
us. As the rays of the lanterns fell within the pit, there 
flashed upwards, from a confused heap of gold and of jewels, 
a glow and a glare that absolutely dazzled our eyes. 

I shall not pretend to describe the feelings with which I 
gazed. Amazement was, of course, predominant. Legrand 
appeared exhausted with excitement, and spoke very few 
words. Jupiter's countenance wore, for some minutes, as 






THE GOLDBUG 121 

deadly a pallor as it is possible, in the nature of things, 
for any negro's visage to assume. He seemed stupefied — 
thunder-stricken. Presently he fell upon his knees in the pit, 
and, burying his naked arms up to the elbows in gold, let 
them there remain, as if enjoying the luxury of a bath. At 
length, with a deep sigh, he exclaimed, as if in a soliloquy: 

"And dis all cum ob de goolebug! de putty goolebug! 
de poor little goolebug, what I boosed in dat sabage kind ob 
style! Aint you shamed ob yourself, nigger? — answer me 
dat!" 

It became necessary, at last, that I should arouse both 
master and valet to the expediency of removing the treasure. 
It was growing late, and it behooved us to make exertion, 
that we might get everything housed before daylight. It 
was difficult to say what should be done, and much time was 
spent in deliberation — so confused were the ideas of all. We 
finally lightened the box by removing two thirds of its con- 
tents, when we were enabled, with some trouble, to raise 
it from the hole. The articles taken out were deposited 
among the brambles, and the dog left to guard them, with 
strict orders from Jupiter neither, upon any pretense, to 
stir from the spot, nor to open his mouth until our return. 
We then hurriedly made for home with the chest; reaching 
the hut in safety, but after excessive toil, at one o'clock in 
the morning. Worn out as we were, it was not in human 
nature to do more just now. We rested until two, and had 
supper; starting for the hills immediately afterwards, armed 
with three stout sacks, which by good luck were upon the 
premises. A little before four we arrived at the pit, divided 
the remainder of the booty, as equally as might be, among 
us, and, leaving the holes unfilled, again set out for the hut, 
at which, for the second time, we deposited our golden bur- 
dens, just as the first streaks of the dawn gleamed from over 
the tree tops in the east. 

We were now thoroughly broken down; but the intense 
excitement of the time denied us repose. After an unquiet 



122 THE GOLD BUG 

slumber of some three or four hours' duration, we arose, as 
if by preconcert, to make examination of our treasure. 

The chest had been full to the brim, and we spent the whole 
day, and the greater part of the next night, in a scrutiny of 
its contents. There had been nothing like order or arrange- 
ment. Everything had been heaped in promiscuously. Hav- 
ing assorted all with care, we found ourselves possessed of 
even vaster wealth than we had at first supposed. In coin 
there was rather more than four hundred and fifty thousand 
dollars: estimating the value of the pieces, as accurately 
as we could, by the tables of the period. There was not a 
particle of silver. All was gold of antique date and of great 
variety: French, Spanish, and German money, with a few 
English guineas, and some counters of which we had never 
seen specimens before. There were several very large and 
heavy coins, so worn that we could make nothing of their 
inscriptions. There was no American money. The value 
of the jewels we found more difficulty in estimating. There 
were diamonds — some of them exceedingly large and fine — 
a hundred and ten in all, and not one of them small; eighteen 
rubies of remarkable brilliancy; three hundred and ten em- 
eralds, all very beautiful; and twenty-one sapphires, with 
an opal. These stones had all been broken from their set- 
tings and thrown loose in the chest. The settings themselves, 
which we picked out from among the other gold, appeared 
to have been beaten up with hammers, as if to prevent 
identification. Besides all this, there was a vast quantity of 
solid gold ornaments: nearly two hundred massive finger and 
earrings; rich chains — thirty of these, if I remember; eighty- 
three very large and heavy crucifixes; five gold censers of 
great value; a prodigious golden punch bowl, ornamented 
with richly chased vine leaves and Bacchanalian figures; 
with two sword handles exquisitely embossed, and many 
other articles which I cannot recollect. The weight of these 
valuables exceeded three hundred and fifty pounds avoirdu- 
pois; and in this estimate I have not included one hundred 



THE GOLDBUG 123 

and ninety-seven superb gold watches; three of the num- 
ber being worth each five hundred dollars, if one. Many 
of them were very old, and as timekeepers valueless, the 
works having suffered more or less from corrosion; but all 
were richly jeweled and in cases of great worth. We esti- 
mated the entire contents of the chest, that night, at a million 
and a half of dollars; and, upon the subsequent disposal of 
the trinkets and jewels (a few being retained for our own use), 
it was found that we had greatly undervalued the treasure. 

When, at length, we had concluded our examination, and 
the intense excitement of the time had in some measure 
subsided, Legrand, who saw that I was dying with impatience 
for a solution of this most extraordinary riddle, entered into 
a full detail of all the circumstances connected with it. 

"You remember," said he, "the night when I handed you 
the rough sketch I had made of the scarabceus. You recollect, 
also, that I became quite vexed at you for insisting that my 
drawing resembled a death's-head. When you first made 
this assertion I thought you were jesting; but afterwards 
I called to mind the peculiar spots on the back of the insect, 
and admitted to myself that your remark had some little 
foundation in fact. Still, the sneer at my graphic powers 
irritated me — for I am considered a good artist — and, there- 
fore, when you handed me the scrap of parchment, I was 
about to crumple it up and throw it angrily into the fire." 

"The scrap of paper, you mean," said I. 

"No: it had much of the appearance of paper, and at first 
I supposed it to be such, but when I came to draw upon it, 
I discovered it, at once, to be a piece of very thin parchment. 
It was quite dirty, you remember. Well, as I was in the very 
act of crumpling it up, my glance fell upon the sketch at 
which you had been looking, and you may imagine my as- 
tonishment when I perceived, in fact, the figure of a death's- 
head just where, it seemed to me, I had made the drawing 
of the beetle. For a moment I was too much amazed to think 
with accuracy. I knew that my design was very different 



124 TUE COLD BUG 

in detail from this — although there was a certain similarity 
in general outline. Presently I took a candle, and, seating 
myself at the other end of the room, proceeded to scrutinize 
the parchment more closely. Upon turning it over, I saw 
my own sketch upon the reverse, just as I had made it. 
My first idea, now, was mere surprise at the really remarkable 
similarity of outline — at the singular coincidence involved 
in the fact that, unknown to me, there should have been a 
skull upon the other side of the parchment, immediately 
beneath my figure of the scarabaus, and that this skull, not 
only in outline, but in size, should so closely resemble my 
drawing. I say the singularity of this coincidence absolutely 
stupefied me for a time. This is the usual effect of such 
coincidences. The mind struggles to establish a connection — 
a sequence of cause and effect — and, being unable to do so, 
suffers a species of temporary paralysis. But, when I re- 
covered from this stupor, there dawned upon me gradually 
a conviction which startled me even far more than the coin- 
cidence. I began distinctly, positively, to remember that 
there had been no drawing on the parchment when I made 
my sketch of the scarabczus. I became perfectly certain of 
this; for I recollected turning up first one side and then the 
other, in search of the cleanest spot. Had the skull been 
there then, of course I could not have failed to notice it. 
Here was indeed a mystery which I felt it impossible to ex- 
plain; but, even at that early moment, there seemed to glim- 
mer, faintly, within the most remote and secret chambers of 
my intellect, a glowworm-like conception of that truth which 
last night's adventure brought to so magnificent a demonstra- 
tion. I arose at once, and, putting the parchment securely 
away, dismissed all farther reflection until I should be alone. 
"When you had gone, and when Jupiter was fast asleep, 
I betook myself to a more methodical investigation of the 
affair. In the first place I considered the manner in which 
the parchment had come into my possession. The spot 
where we discovered the scarabceus was on the coast of the 



THE GOLD BUG 125 

mainland, about a mile eastward of the island, and but a 
short distance above high-water mark. Upon my taking 
hold of it, it gave me a sharp bite, which caused me to let 
it drop. Jupiter, with his accustomed caution, before seizing 
the insect, which had flown towards him looked about him 
for a leaf, or something of that nature, by which to take hold 
of it. It was at this moment that his eyes, and mine also, 
fell upon the scrap of parchment, which I then supposed to be 
paper. It was lying half-buried in the sand, a corner sticking 
up. Near the spot w r here we found it, I observed the remnants 
of the hull of w T hat appeared to have been a ship's longboat. 
The wreck seemed to have been there for a very great while; 
for the resemblance to boat timbers could scarcely be traced. 

"Well, Jupiter picked up the parchment, wrapped the 
beetle in it, and gave it to me. Soon afterwards we turned 

to go home, and on the w T ay met Lieutenant G . I showed 

him the insect, and he begged me to let him take it to the 
fort. On my consenting, he thrust it forthwith into his 
waistcoat pocket, without the parchment in which it had 
been wrapped, and which I had continued to hold in my hand 
during his inspection. Perhaps he dreaded my changing my 
mind, and thought it best to make sure of the prize at once — 
you know how enthusiastic he is on all subjects connected with 
Natural History. At the same time, without being conscious 
of it, I must have deposited the parchment in my own pocket. 

"You remember that when I went to the table, for the 
purpose of making a sketch of the beetle, I found no paper 
where it was usually kept. I looked in the drawer, and 
found none there. I searched my pockets, hoping to find 
an old letter, and then my hand fell upon the parchment. 
I thus detail the precise mode in which it came into my posses- 
sion; for the circumstances impressed me with peculiar force. 

"No doubt you will think me fanciful — but I had already 
established a kind of connection. I had put together two 
links of a great chain. There was a boat lying on a seacoast, 
and not far from the boat was a parchment — not a paper — 



120 THE COLD BUG 

with a skull depicted on it. You will, of course, ask 'where 
is the connection?' 1 reply that the skull, or death's-head, 
is the well-known emblem of the pirate. The flag of the 
death's-head is hoisted in all engagements. 

"I have said that the scrap was parchment, and not paper. 
Parchment is durable — almost imperishable. Matters of 
little moment are rarely consigned to parchment; since, 
for the mere ordinary purposes of drawing or writing, it is 
not nearly so well adapted as paper. This reflection suggested 
some meaning — some relevancy — in the death's-head. I 
did not fail to observe, also, the form of the parchment. 
Although one of its corners had been, by some accident, 
destroyed, it could be seen that the original form was oblong. 
It was just such a slip, indeed, as might have been chosen 
for a memorandum — for a record of something to be long 
remembered and carefully preserved." 

"But," I interposed, "you say that the skull was not upon 
the parchment when you made the drawing of the beetle. 
How then do you trace any connection between the boat and 
the skull — since this latter, according to your own admission, 
must have been designed (God only knows how or by whom) at 
some period subsequent to your sketching the scarabczus?" 

"Ah, hereupon turns the whole mystery; although the 
secret, at this point, I had comparatively little difficulty in 
solving. My steps were sure, and could afford but a single 
result. I reasoned, for example, thus: When I drew the 
scarabceus, there was no skull apparent on the parchment. 
When I had completed the drawing I gave it to you, and ob- 
served you narrow T ly until you returned it. You, therefore, 
did not design the skull, and no one else was present to do it. 
Then it was not done by human agenc}^. And nevertheless 
it was done. 

"At this stage of my reflections I endeavored to remember, 
and did remember, with entire distinctness, every incident 
which occurred about the period in question. The weather 
was chilly (O rare and happy accident!), and a fire was 



THE GOLD BUG 1 27 

blazing on the hearth. I was heated with exercise and sat 
near the table. You, however, had drawn a chair close to 
the chimney. Just as I placed the parchment in your hand, 
and as you were in the act of inspecting it, Wolf, the New- 
foundland, entered, and leaped upon your shoulders. With 
your left hand you caressed him and kept him off, while 
your right, holding the parchment, was permitted to fall 
listlessly between your knees, and in close proximity to the 
fire. At one moment I thought the blaze had caught it, and 
was about to caution you, but, before I could speak, you had 
withdrawn it, and were engaged in its examination. When 
I considered all these particulars, I doubted not for a moment 
that heat had been the agent in bringing to light, on the parch- 
ment, the skull which I saw designed on it. You are well 
aware that chemical preparations exist, and have existed 
time out of mind, by means of which it is possible to write 
on either paper or vellum, so that the characters shall be- 
come visible only when subjected to the action of fire. Zaffer, 
digested in aqua regia, and diluted with four times its weight 
of water, is sometimes employed; a green tint results. The 
regulus of cobalt, dissolved in spirit of niter, gives a red. 
These colors disappear at longer or shorter intervals after 
the material written upon cools, but again become apparent 
upon the reapplication of heat. 

"I now scrutinized the death's-head with care. Its outer 
edges — the edges of the drawing nearest the edge of the 
vellum — were far more distinct than the others. It was 
clear that the action of the caloric had been imperfect or 
unequal. I immediately kindled a fire, and subjected every 
portion of the parchment to a glowing heat. At first, the 
only effect was the strengthening of the faint lines in the 
skull; but, on persevering in the experiment, there became 
visible at the corner of the slip, diagonally opposite to the 
spot in which the death's-head was delineated, the figure of 
what I at first supposed to be a goat. A closer scrutiny, 
however, satisfied me that it was intended for a kid." 



128 THE GOLD BUG 

"Ha! ha!" said I, "to be sure I have no right to laugh at 
you — a million and a half of money is too serious a matter 
for mirth — but you are not about to establish a third link 
in your chain: you will not find any especial connection be- 
tween your pirates and a goat; pirates, you know, have noth- 
ing to do with goats; they appertain to the farming interest." 

" But I have just said that the figure was not that of a goat." 

"Well, a kid, then — pretty much the same thing." 

"Pretty much, but not altogether," said Legrand. "You 
may have heard of one Captain Kidd. w I at once looked on 
the figure of the animal as a kind of punning or hieroglyphical 
signature. I say signature, because its position on the vellum 
suggested this idea. The death's-head at the corner diagon- 
ally opposite had, in the same manner, the air of a stamp, 
or seal. But I was sorely put out by the absence of all else — ■ 
of the body to my imagined instrument — of the text for my 
context." 

"I presume you expected to find a letter between the stamp 
and the signature." 

"Something of that kind. The fact is, I felt irresistibly 
impressed with a presentiment of some vast good fortune 
impending. I can scarcely say why. Perhaps, after all, 
it was rather a desire than an actual belief; — but do you know 
that Jupiter's silly words, about the bug being of solid gold, 
had a remarkable effect on my fancy? And then the series 
of accidents and coincidences — these were so very extraordi- 
nary. Do you observe how mere an accident it was that 
these events should have occurred on the sole day of all the 
year in which it has been, or may be, sufficiently cool for fire, 
and that without the fire, or without the intervention of the 
dog at the precise moment in which he appeared, I should 
never have become aware of the death's-head, and so never 
the possessor of the treasure?" 

"But proceed — I am all impatience." 

"Well; you have heard, of course, the many stories current 
■ — the thousand vague rumors afloat about money buried, 



THE GOLD BUG 1 29 

somewhere on the Atlantic coast, by Kidd and his associates. 
These rumors must have had some foundation in fact. And 
that the rumors have existed so long and so continuously, 
could have resulted, it appeared to me, only from the circum- 
stance of the buried treasure still remaining entombed. Had 
Kidd concealed his plunder for a time, and afterwards re- 
claimed it, the rumors would scarcely have reached us in their 
present unvarying form. You will observe that the stories 
told are all about money seekers, not about money finders. 
Had the pirate recovered his money, there the affair would 
have dropped. It seemed to me that some accident — say the 
loss of a memorandum indicating its locality — had deprived 
him of the means of recovering it, and that this accident had 
become known to his followers, who otherwise might never 
have heard that treasure had been concealed at all, and who, 
busying themselves in vain, because unguided, attempts to re- 
gain it, had given first birth, and then universal currency, to the 
reports which are now so common. Have you ever heard of 
any important treasure being unearthed along the coast?" 

"Never." 

"But that Kidd's accumulations were immense is well 
known. I took it for granted, therefore, that the earth still 
held them; and you will scarcely be surprised when I tell 
you that I felt a hope, nearly amounting to certainty, that 
the parchment so strangely found involved a lost record of the 
place of deposit." 

"But how did you proceed ? " 

"I held the vellum again to the fire, after increasing the 
heat, but nothing appeared. I now thought it possible that 
the coating of dirt might have something to do with the 
failure; so I carefully rinsed the parchment by pouring warm 
water over it, and, having done this, I placed it in a tin pan, 
with the skull downwards, and put the pan upon a furnace 
of lighted charcoal. In a few minutes, the pan having be- 
come thoroughly heated, I removed the slip, and, to my in- 
expressible joy, found it spotted, in several places, with what 



ijO THE COLD BUG 

appeared to be figures arranged in lines. Again I placed 
it in the pan, and suffered it to remain another minute. 
Upon taking it oft', the whole was just as you see it now." 

Here Legrand, having reheated the parchment, submitted 
it to my inspection. The following characters were rudely 
traced, in a red tint, between the death's-head and the goat: — 

S3»t30S))6*;4826)4t.)4t);8o6*; 4 8t8l[6o))8s;;]8*;:t*8t83(88)s*t;4 
6(;88*96*?;8)*t(;48s);S*t2:*t(;49S6*2(s*-4)8lf8*; 4 o6928s);)6t8)4tt 
;i(t9; 4 8o8i;8:8ti;48t8s;4)48stS288o6*8i(t9;48;(88;4(t?34;48)4t;i6 
i;:i88;t?; 

"But," said I, returning him the slip, "I am as much in the 
dark as ever. Were all the jewels of Golconda awaiting me on 
my solution of this enigma, I am quite sure that I should be 
unable to earn them." 

"And yet," said Legrand, "the solution is by no means 
so difficult as you might be led to imagine from the first hasty 
inspection of the characters. These characters, as any one 
might readily guess, form a cipher — that is to say, they con- 
vey a meaning; but then, from what is known of Kidd, I 
could not suppose him capable of constructing any of the 
more abstruse cryptographs. n I made up my mind, at once, 
that this was of a simple species — such, however, as would 
appear, to the crude intellect of the sailor, absolutely insolu- 
ble without the key." 

"And you really solved it? " 

" Readily; I have solved others of an abstruseness ten thou- 
sand times greater. Circumstances, and a certain bias of 
mind, have led me to take interest in such riddles, and it 
may well be doubted whether human ingenuity can construct 
an enigma of the kind which human ingenuity may not, 
by proper application, resolve. In fact, having once es- 
tablished connected and legible characters, I scarcely gave 
a thought to the mere difficulty of developing their import. 

" In the present case — indeed in all cases of secret writing — ■ 
the first question regards the language of the cipher; for the 



THE GOLDBUG 



131 



principles of solution, so far, especially, as the more simple 
ciphers are concerned, depend on, and are varied by, the 
genius of the particular idiom. In general, there is no alter- 
native but experiment (directed by probabilities) of every 
tongue known to him who attempts the solution, until the 
true one be attained. But, with the cipher now before us, 
all difficulty is removed by the signature. The pun upon 
the word 'Kidd' is appreciable in no other language than the 
English. But for this consideration I should have begun 
my attempts with the Spanish and French, as the tongues in 
which a secret of this kind would most naturally have been 
written by a pirate of the Spanish main. As it was, I assumed 
the cryptograph to be English. 

"You observe there are no divisions between the words. 
Had there been divisions, the task w T ould have been com- 
paratively easy. In such case I should have commenced 
with a collation and analysis of the shorter words, and, had 
a word of a single letter occurred, as is most likely {a or /, 
for example), I should have considered the solution as as- 
sured. But, there being no division, my first step was to 
ascertain the predominant letters, as well as the least fre- 
quent. Counting all, I constructed a table, thus: 

Of the character 8 there are 33 



) 


26 


4 ' 


19 


X) ' 


16 


* < 


13 


5 ' 


' 12 


6 ' 


6 n 


ti ' 


8 


' 


6 


92 ' 


5 


=3 ' 


4 


? < 


3 

2 


— , 


1 



Ij2 THE GOLDBUG 

''Now, in English, the letter which most frequently occurs 
Afterwards the succession runs thus: aoidhnrstuyc 
m :r b k p q x z. E predominates, however, so remark- 
ably that an individual sentence of any length is rarely seen, 
in which it is not the prevailing character. 

"Here, then, we have, in the very beginning, the ground- 
work for something more than a mere guess. The general 
use which may be made of the table is obvious — but, in this 
particular cipher, we shall only very partially require its 
aid. As our predominant character is 8, we will commence 
by assuming it as the e of the natural alphabet. To verify 
the supposition, let us observe if the 8 be seen often in 
couples — for e is doubled with great frequency in English — 
in such words, for example, as 'meet/ 'fleet,' 'speed,' 'seen,' 
'been,' 'agree,' etc. In the present instance we see it 
doubled no less than five times, although the cryptograph is 
brief. 

"Let us assume 8, then, as e. Now, of all words in the 
language, 'the' is most usual; let us see, therefore, whether 
there are not repetitions of any three characters, in the same 
order of collocation, the last of them being 8. If we discover 
repetitions of such letters, so arranged, they will most prob- 
ably represent the word 'the.' On inspection, we find no 
less than seven such arrangements, the characters being 
;48. We may, therefore, assume that the semicolon repre- 
sents t, that 4 represents A, and that 8 represents e — the 
last being now well confirmed. Thus a great step has been 
taken. 

"But, having established a single word, we are enabled 
to establish a vastly important point; that is to say, several 
commencements and terminations of other words. Let us 
refer, for example, to the last instance but one, in which the 
combination 548 occurs — not far from the end of the cipher. 
We know that the semicolon immediately ensuing is the 
commencement of a word, and, of the six characters succeed- 
ing this 'the/ we are cognizant of no less than five. Let us 



THE GOLDBUG 133 

set these characters down, thus, by the letters we know them 
to represent, leaving a space for the unknown — 

t eeth. 

"Here we are enabled, at once, to discard the c th? as form- 
ing no portion of the word commencing with the first t; since, 
by experiment of the entire alphabet for a letter adapted 
to the vacancy, we perceive that no word can be formed of 
which this th can be a part. We are thus narrowed into 

t ee, 

and, going through the alphabet, if necessary, as before, we 
arrive at the word 'tree' as the sole possible reading. We thus 
gain another letter, r, represented by (, with the words 'the 
tree' in juxtaposition. 

"Looking beyond these words, for a short distance, we 
again see the combination 548, and employ it by way of 
termination to what immediately precedes. We have thus 
this arrangement: 

the tree ;4(J?34 the, 

or, substituting the natural letters, where known, it reads thus : 

the tree thr J.^h the. 

"Now, if, in place of the unknown characters, we leave 
blank spaces, or substitute dots, we read thus: 

the tree thr . . . h the, 

when the word 'through 9 makes itself evident at once. But 
this discovery gives us three new letters, 0, u and g, repre- 
sented by f, ? and 3. 

"Looking now, narrowly, through the cipher for com- 
binations of known characters, we find, not very far from the 
beginning, this arrangement: 

83(88, or egree, 

which, plainly, is the conclusion of the word 'degree,' and 
gives us another letter,-^, represented by f. 



134 THE GOLD BUG 

"Four letters beyond the word 'degree/ we perceive the 
combination 

; 4 6(;88* 

"Translating the known characters, and representing the 
unknown by dots, as before, we read thus: 

th . rtee . 

an arrangement immediately suggestive of the word 'thir- 
teen/ and again furnishing us with two new characters, i and 
n, represented by 6 and *. 

"Referring, now, to the beginning of the cryptograph, we 
find the combination, 

53«t- 
"Translating as before, we obtain 

good, 

which assures us that the first letter is A> and that the first 
two words are 'A good/ 

"To avoid confusion, it is now time that we arrange our 
key, as far as discovered, in a tabular form. It will stand 
thus: 

5 represents a 
t " d 
8 " e 

3 " g 

4 " h 

6 " i 
* " n 
t " o 
( " r 

; " t 

"We have, therefore, no less than ten of the most important 
letters represented, and it will be unnecessary to proceed 
with the details of the solution. I have said enough to con- 
vince you that ciphers of this nature are readily soluble, and 



THE GOLD BUG 135 

to give you some insight into the rationale of their develop- 
ment. But be assured that the specimen before us apper- 
tains to the very simplest species of cryptograph. It now 
only remains to give you the full translation of the characters 
upon the parchment, as unriddled. Here it is: 

"'A good glass in the bishop's hostel in the devil's seat 
twenty-one degrees and thirteen minutes northeast and by north 
main branch seventh limb east side shoot from the left eye of the 
death's-head a bee line from the tree through the shot fifty feet out. 

"But," said I, "the enigma seems still in as bad a con- 
dition as ever. How is it possible to extort a meaning from 
all this jargon about 'devil's seats/ 'death's-head/ and 
'bishop's hostel'? " 

"I confess," replied Legrand, "that the matter still wears 
a serious aspect, when regarded with a casual glance. My 
first endeavor was to divide the sentence into the natural 
division intended by the cryptographist." 

"You mean, to punctuate it?" 

"Something of that kind." 

" But how is it possible to effect this ? " 

"I reflected that it had been a point with the writer to 
run his words together without division, so as to increase 
the difficulty of solution. Nov/, a not over-acute man, in 
pursuing such an object, would be nearly certain to overdo 
the matter. When, in the course of his composition, he ar- 
rived at a break in his subject which would naturally require 
a pause, or a point, he would be exceedingly apt to run his 
characters, at this place, more than usually close together. 
If you will observe the MS., in the present instance, you will 
easily detect five such cases of unusual crowding. Acting 
on this hint, I made the division thus: 

"'A good glass in the bishop's hostel in the devil's seat — 
twenty-one degrees and thirteen minutes — northeast and by 
north — main branch seventh limb east side — shoot from the 
left eye of the death's-head — a bee line from the tree through the 
shot fifty feet out J " 



[36 THE GOLD BUG 

u Even this division/' said I, "leaves me still in the dark." 

"It left me also in the dark," replied Legrand, "for a few 
days; during which I made diligent inquiry, in the neighbor- 
hood of Sullivan's Island, for any building which went by 
. the name of the 'Bishop's Hotel'; for, of course, I dropped 
the obsolete word 'hostel.' Gaining no information on the 
subject, I was on the point of extending my sphere of search, 
and proceeding in a more systematic manner, when one 
morning it entered into my head, quite suddenly, that this 
1 Bishop's Hostel' might have some reference to an old family, 
of the name of Bessop, which, time out of mind, had held 
possession of an ancient manorhouse, about four miles to 
the northward of the island. I accordingly went over to 
the plantation, and reinstituted my inquiries among the older 
negroes of the place. At length one of the most aged of the 
women said that she had heard of such a place as Bessop' s 
Castle, and thought that she could guide me to it, but that 
it was not a castle, nor a tavern, but a high rock. 

"I offered to pay her well for her trouble, and, after some 
demur, she consented to accompany me to the spot. We 
found it without much difficulty, when, dismissing her, I 
proceeded to examine the place. The 'castle' consisted of an 
irregular assemblage of cliffs and rocks — one of the latter 
being quite remarkable for its height as well as for its in- 
sulated and artificial appearance. I clambered to its apex, and 
then felt much at a loss as to what should be next done. 

"While I was busied in reflection, my eyes fell on a narrow 
ledge in the eastern face of the rock, perhaps a yard below 
the summit upon which I stood. This ledge projected about 
eighteen inches, and was not more than a foot wide, while 
a niche in the cliff just above it gave it a rude resemblance 
to one of the hollow-backed chairs used by our ancestors. 
I made no doubt that here was the 'devil's seat' alluded to 
in the MS., and now I seemed to grasp the full secret of the 
riddle. 

"The 'good glass,' I knew, could have reference to nothing 



THE GOLD BUG 137 

but a telescope; for the word 'glass' is rarely employed in 
any other sense by seamen. Now here, I at once saw, was a 
telescope to be used, and a definite point of view, admitting 
no variation, from which to use it. Nor did I hesitate to 
believe that the phrases 'twenty-one degrees and thirteen 
minutes,' and 'north-east and by north,' were intended as 
directions for the leveling of the glass. Greatly excited by 
these discoveries, I hurried home, procured a telescope, and 
returned to the rock. 

"I let myself down to the ledge, and found that it was 
impossible to retain a seat on it unless in one particular posi- 
tion. This fact confirmed my preconceived idea. I pro- 
ceeded to use the glass. Of course, the 'twenty-one degrees 
and thirteen minutes ' could allude to nothing but elevation 
above the visible horizon, since the horizontal direction was 
clearly indicated by the words, 'north-east and by north.' 
This latter direction I at once established by means of a 
pocket compass; then, pointing the glass as nearly at an 
angle of twenty-one degrees of elevation as I could do it by 
guess, I moved it cautiously up or down, until my attention 
was arrested by a circular rift or opening in the foliage of a 
large tree that overtopped its fellows in the distance. In the 
center of this rift I perceived a white spot, but could not, 
at first, distinguish what it was. Adjusting the focus of the 
telescope, I again looked, and now made it out to be a human 
skull. 

"On this discovery I was so sanguine as to consider the 
enigma solved; for the phrase 'main branch, seventh limb, 
east side,' could refer only to the position of the skull on the 
tree, while 'shoot from the left eye of the death's-head' ad- 
mitted, also, of but one interpretation, in regard to a search 
for buried treasure. I perceived that the design was to drop 
a bullet from the left eye of the skull, and that a bee line, or, 
in other words, a straight line, drawn from the nearest point 
of the trunk through the 'shot ' (or the spot where the bullet 
fell), and thence extended to a distance of fifty feet, would 



138 THE COLDBUG 

indicate a definite point — and beneath this point I thought 
it at least possible that a deposit of value lay concealed." 

"All this," I said, "is exceedingly clear, and, although 
ingenious, still simple and explicit. When you left the 
Bishop's Hotel, what then?" 

"Why, having carefully taken the bearings of the tree, I 
turned homewards. The instant that I left 'the devil's 
seat,' however, the circular rift vanished; nor could I get a 
glimpse of it afterwards, turn as I would. What seems to 
me the chief ingenuity in this whole business, is the fact (for 
repeated experiment has convinced me it is a fact) that the 
circular opening in question is visible from no other attainable 
point of view than that afforded by the narrow ledge on the 
face of the rock. 

"In this expedition to the 'Bishop's Hotel 5 I had been 
attended by Jupiter, who had no doubt observed, for some 
weeks past, the abstraction of my demeanor, and took es- 
pecial care not to leave me alone. But on the next day, get- 
ting up very early, I contrived to give him the slip, and went 
into the hills in search of the tree. After much toil I found it. 
When I came home at night my valet proposed to give me a 
flogging. With the rest of the adventure I believe you are as 
well acquainted as myself." 

"I suppose," said I, "you missed the spot, in the first 
attempt at digging, through Jupiter's stupidity in letting the 
bug fall through the right instead of through the left eye of 
the skull." 

"Precisely. This mistake made a difference of about two 
inches and a half in the 'shot' — that is to say, in the position 
of the peg nearest the tree; and had the treasure been be- 
neath the 'shot,' the error would have been of little moment; 
but the 'shot,' together with the nearest point of the tree, 
were merely two points for the establishment of a line of 
direction; of course the error, however trivial in the beginning, 
increased as we proceeded with the line, and, by the time we 
had gone fifty feet, threw us quite ofF the scent. But for 



THE GOLDBUG 139 

my deep-seated convictions that treasure was here somewhere 
actually buried, we might have had all our labor in vain." 

"I presume the fancy of the skull — of letting fall a bullet 
through the skull's eye — was suggested to Kidd by the 
piratical flag. No doubt he felt a kind of poetical consistency 
in recovering his money through this ominous insignium." 

"Perhaps so; still, I cannot help thinking that common 
sense had quite as much to do with the matter as poetical 
consistency. To be visible from the 'devil's seat,' it was 
necessary that the object, if small, should be white; and there 
is nothing like your human skull for retaining and even increas- 
ing its whiteness underexposure to all vicissitudes of weather." 

"But your grandiloquence, and your conduct in swinging 
the beetle — how excessively odd! I was sure you were mad. 
And why did you insist on letting fall the bug, instead of a 
bullet, from the skull?" 

"Why, to be frank, I felt somewhat annoyed by your 
evident suspicions touching my sanity, and so resolved to 
punish you quietly, in my owti way, by a little bit of sober 
mystification. For this reason I swung the beetle, and for 
this reason I let it fall from the tree. An observation of yours 
about its great weight suggested the latter idea." 

"Yes, I perceive; and now there is only one point which 
puzzles me. What are we to make of the skeletons found 
in the hole?" 

"That is a question I am no more able to answer than 
yourself. There seems, however, only one plausible way of 
accounting for them — and yet it is dreadful to believe in such 
atrocity as my suggestion would imply. It is clear that 
Kidd — if Kidd indeed secreted this treasure, which I doubt 
not — it is clear that he must have had assistance in the labor. 
But, the worst of this labor concluded, he may have thought 
it expedient to remove all participants in his secret. Perhaps 
a couple of blows with a mattock were sufficient, while his 
coadjutors were busy in the pit; perhaps it required a dozen — 
who shall tell?" 



THE PURLOINED LETTER 

Nil sapicntiae odiosius acumine nimio. w 

Seneca 

At Paris, just after dark one gusty evening in the autumn 
of 1 8 — , I was enjoying the twofold luxury of meditation and 
a meerschaum, in company with my friend C. Auguste Dupin, 
in his little back library, or book closet, au troisieme* No. 33, 
Rue Dunot, Faubourg St. Germain. For one hour at least 
we had maintained a profound silence; while each, to any 
casual observer, might have seemed intently and exclusively 
occupied with the curling eddies of smoke that oppressed 
the atmosphere of the chamber. For myself, however, I 
was mentally discussing certain topics which had formed 
matter for conversation between us at an earlier period of 
the evening; I mean the affair of the Rue Morgue, and the 
mystery attending the murder of Marie Roget. I looked 
upon it, therefore, as something of a coincidence, when the 
door of our apartment was thrown open and admitted our 

old acquaintance, Monsieur G , the Prefect of the Parisian 

police. 

We gave him a hearty welcome; for there was nearly half 
as much of the entertaining as of the contemptible about 
the man, and we had not seen him for several years. We 
had been sitting in the dark, and Dupin now arose for the 
purpose of lighting a lamp, but sat down again, without doing 

so, upon G 's saying that he had called to consult us, 

or rather to ask the opinion of my friend, about some official 
business which had occasioned a great deal of trouble. 

"If it is any point requiring reflection," observed Dupin, 
as he forebore to enkindle the wick, "we shall examine it to 
better purpose in the dark." 

140 



THE PURLOINED LETTER 141 

"That is another of your odd notions," said the Prefect, 
who had a fashion of calling everything "odd" that was 
beyond his comprehension, and thus lived amid an absolute 
legion of "oddities." 

"Very true," said Dupin, as he supplied his visitor with a 
pipe, and rolled towards him a comfortable chair. 

"And what is the difficulty now?" I asked. "Nothing 
more in the assassination way, I hope?" 

"Oh, no; nothing of that nature. The fact is, the business 
is very simple indeed, and I make no doubt that we can man- 
age it sufficiently well ourselves; but then I thought Dupin 
would like to hear the details of it, because it is so excessively 
odd." 

"Simple and odd," said Dupin. 

"Why, yes; and not exactly that, either. The fact is, we 
have all been a good deal puzzled because the affair is so 
simple, and yet baffles us altogether." 

"Perhaps it is the very simplicity of the thing which puts 
you at fault," said my friend. 

"What nonsense you do talk!" replied the Prefect, laugh- 
ing heartily. 

"Perhaps the mystery is a little too plain," said Dupin. 

"Oh, good Heavens! who ever heard of such an idea?" 

"A little too self-evident." 

"Ha! ha! ha! — ha! ha! ha! — ho! ho! ho!" roared our 
visitor, profoundly amused. "O Dupin, you will be the 
death of me yet!" 

"And what, after all, is the matter on hand?" I asked. 

"Why, I will tell you," replied the Prefect, as he gave a 
long, steady, and contemplative puff, and settled himself 
in his chair. "I will tell you in a few words; but, before I 
begin, let me caution you that this is an affair demanding 
the greatest secrecy, and that I should most probably lose 
the position I now hold were it known that I confided it to 
any one." 

"Proceed," said I. 



[42 THE PURLOINED LETTER 

"Or not," said Dupin. 

"Well, then; 1 have received personal information, from a 
very high quarter, that a certain document of the last impor- 
tance has been purloined from the royal apartments. The 
individual who purloined it is known; this beyond a doubt; 
he was seen to take it. It is known, also, that it still remains 
in his possession." 

"How is this known?" asked Dupin. 

"It is clearly inferred," replied the Prefect, "from the 
nature of the document, and from the nonappearance of 
certain results which w 7 ould at once arise from its passing 
out of the robber's possession; that is to say, from his employ- 
ing it as he must design in the end to employ it." 

"Be a little more explicit," I said. 

"Well, I may venture so far as to say that the paper gives 
its holder a certain power in a certain quarter where such 
power is immensely valuable." The Prefect was fond of the 
cant of diplomacy. 

"Still I do not quite understand," said Dupin. 

"No? well; the disclosure of the document to a third per- 
son, who shall be nameless, would bring in question the 
honor of a personage of most exalted station; and this fact 
gives the holder of the document an ascendency over the illus- 
trious personage whose honor and peace are so jeopardized." 

"But this ascendency," I interposed, "would depend upon 
the robber's knowledge of the loser's knowledge of the robber. 
Who would dare — " 

"The thief," said G , "is the Minister D , who 

dares all things, those unbecoming as well as those becoming 
a man. The method of the theft was not less ingenious than 
bold. The document in question — a letter, to be frank — 
had been received by the personage robbed while alone in 
the royal boudoir. During its perusal she was suddenly 
interrupted by the entrance of the other exalted personage, 
from whom especially it was her wish to conceal it. After 
a hurried and vain endeavor to thrust it in a drawer, she was 



THE PURLOINED LETTER 1 43 

forced to place it, open as it was, upon a table. The address, 
however, was uppermost, and, the contents thus unexposed, 
the letter escaped notice. At this juncture enters the Minis- 
ter D . His lynx eye immediately perceives the paper, 

recognizes the handwriting of the address, observes the con- 
fusion of the personage addressed, and fathoms her secret. 
After some business transactions, hurried through in his 
ordinary manner, he produces a letter somewhat similar to 
the one in question, opens it, pretends to read it, and then 
places it in close juxtaposition to the other. Again he con- 
verses for some fifteen minutes upon the public affairs. At 
length, in taking leave, he takes also from the table the letter 
to which he had no claim. Its rightful owner saw, but, of 
course, dared not call attention to the act, in the presence 
of the third personage, who stood at her elbow. The Minister 
decamped, leaving his own letter — one of no importance — 
upon the table." 

"Here, then," said Dupin to me, "you have precisely what 
you demand to make the ascendency complete — the robber's 
knowledge of the loser's knowledge of the robber." 

"Yes," replied the Prefect; "and the power thus attained 
has, for some months past, been wielded, for political pur- 
poses, to a very dangerous extent. The personage robbed is 
more thoroughly convinced, every day, of the necessity of 
reclaiming her letter. But this, of course, cannot be done 
openly. In fine, driven to despair, she has committed the 
matter to me." 

"Than whom," said Dupin, amid a perfect whirlwind of 
smoke, "no more sagacious agent could, I suppose, be de- 
sired, or even imagined." 

"You flatter me," replied the Prefect; "but it is possible 
that some such opinion may have been entertained." 

"It is clear," said I, "as you observe, that the letter is 
still in possession of the Minister; since it is this possession, 
and not any employment of the letter, which bestows the 
power. With the employment the power departs." 



144 THE PURLOINED LETTER 

"True," said G ; "and upon this conviction I pro- 
ceeded. My first care was to make thorough search of the 
Minister's Hotel; and here my chief embarrassment lay in 
the necessity of searching without his knowledge. Beyond all 
things, I have been warned of the danger which would result 
from giving him reason to suspect our design." 

"But," said I, "you are quite au fait 1 in these investiga- 
tions. The Parisian police have done this thing often before." 

"Oh, yes; and for this reason I did not despair. The habits 
of the Minister gave me, too, a great advantage. He is fre- 
quently absent from home all night. His servants are by 
no means numerous. They sleep at a distance from their 
master's apartment, and, being chiefly Neapolitans, are read- 
ily made drunk. I have keys, as you know, with which I can 
open any chamber or cabinet in Paris. For three months a 
night has not passed, during the greater part of which I 

have not been engaged, personally, in ransacking the D 

Hotel. My honor is interested, and, to mention a great 
secret, the reward is enormous. So I did not abandon the 
search until I had become fully satisfied the thief is a more 
astute man than myself. I fancy that I have investigated 
every nook and corner of the premises in which it is possible 
that the paper can be concealed." 

"But is it not possible," I suggested, "that although the 
letter may be in possession of the Minister, as it unques- 
tionably is, he may have concealed it elsewhere than upon 
his own premises?" 

"This is barely possible," said Dupin. "The present pe- 
culiar condition of affairs at court, and especially of those 

intrigues in which D is known to be involved, would 

render the instant availability of the document — its sus- 
ceptibility of being produced at a moment's notice — a point 
of nearly equal importance with its possession." 

"Its susceptibility of being produced?" said I. 

"That is to say, of being destroyed" said Dupin. 
1 "To the point" — expert. 



THE PURLOINED LETTER 145 

"True," I observed; "the paper is clearly then upon the 
premises. As for its being upon the person of the Minister, 
we may consider that as out of the question/' 

"Entirely," said the Prefect. "He has been twice way- 
laid, as if by footpads, and his person rigorously searched 
under my own inspection." 

"You might have spared yourself this trouble," said Dupin. 

"D , I presume, is not altogether a fool, and, if not, must 

have anticipated these waylayings, as a matter of course." 

"Not altogether a fool," said G , "but then he's a poet, 

which I take to be only one remove from a fool." 

"True," said Dupin, after a long and thoughtful whiff 
from his meerschaum, "although I have been guilty of certain 
doggerel myself." 

"Suppose you detail," said I, "the particulars of your 
search." 

"Why, the fact is, we took our time, and we searched 
everywhere. I have had long experience in these affairs. I 
took the entire building, room by room, devoting the nights 
of a whole week to each. We examined, first, the furniture 
of each apartment. We opened every possible drawer; and 
I presume you know that, to a properly trained police agent, 
such a thing as a secret drawer is impossible. Any man is a 
dolt who permits a 'secret' drawer to escape him in a search 
of this kind. The thing is so plain. There is a certain amount 
of bulk — of space — to be accounted for in every cabinet. 
Then we have accurate rules. The fiftieth part of a line could 
not escape us. After the cabinets we took the chairs. The 
cushions we probed with the fine long needles you have seen 
me employ. From the tables we removed the tops." 

"Why so?" 

"Sometimes the top of a table, or other similarly arranged 
piece of furniture, is removed by the person wishing to con- 
ceal an article; then the leg is excavated, the article deposited 
within the cavity, and the top replaced. The bottoms and 
tops of bedposts are employed in the same way." 



146 THE PURLOINED LETTER 

" Hut could not the cavity be detected by sounding?" I 
asked. 

" By no means, if, when the article is deposited, a sufficient 
wadding of cotton be placed around it. Besides, in our case 
we were obliged to proceed without noise." 

"But you could not have removed — you could not have 
taken to pieces all articles of furniture in which it would have 
been possible to make a deposit in the manner you mention. 
A letter may be compressed into a thin spiral roll, not differ- 
ing much in shape or bulk from a large knitting needle, and 
in this form it might be inserted into the rung of a chair, for 
example. You did not take to pieces all the chairs?" 

"Certainly not; but we did better — we examined the 
rungs of every chair in the Hotel, and indeed, the jointings 
of every description of furniture, by the aid of a most power- 
ful microscope. Had there been any traces of recent disturb- 
ance we should not have failed to detect it instantly. A sin- 
gle grain of gimlet dust, for example, would have been as 
obvious as an apple. Any disorder in the gluing — any un- 
usual gaping in the joints — would have sufficed to insure 
detection." 

"I presume you looked to the mirrors, between the boards 
and the plates, and you probed the beds and the bedclothes, 
as well as the curtains and carpets?" 

"That, of course; and when we had absolutely completed 
every particle of the furniture in this way, then we examined 
the house itself. We divided its entire surface into compart- 
ments, which we numbered, so that none might be missed; 
then we scrutinized each individual square inch throughout 
the premises, including the two houses immediately adjoin- 
ing, with the microscope, as before." 

"The two houses adjoining!" I exclaimed; "you must 
have had a great deal of trouble." 

"We had; but the reward offered is prodigious." 

"You include the grounds about the houses?" 

"All the grounds are paved with bricks. They gave us 



THE PURLOINED LETTER 147 

comparatively little trouble. We examined the moss be- 
tween the bricks, and found it undisturbed. " 

"You looked among D 's papers, of course, and into 

the books of the library? " 

"Certainly; we opened every package and parcel; we not 
only opened every book, but we turned over every leaf in 
each volume, not contenting ourselves with a mere shake, 
according to the fashion of some of our police officers. We 
also measured the thickness of every book-cover, w 7 ith the 
most accurate admeasurement, and applied to each the most 
jealous scrutiny of the microscope. Had any of the bindings 
been recently meddled with, it would have been utterly im- 
possible that the fact should have escaped observation. Some 
five or six volumes, just from the hands of the binder, we 
carefully probed, longitudinally, with the needles." 

"You explored the floors beneath the carpets?" 

"Beyond doubt. We removed every carpet, and examined 
the boards with the microscope." 

"And the paper on the walls?" 

"Yes." 

"You looked into the cellars?" 

"We did." 

"Then," I said, "you have been making a miscalculation, 
and the letter is not upon the premises, as you suppose." 

"I fear you are right there," said the Prefect. "And now, 
Dupin, what would you advise me to do?" 

"To make a thorough re-search of the premises." 

"That is absolutely needless," replied G . "I am 

not more sure that I breathe than I am that the letter is 
not at the Hotel." 

"I have no better advice to give you," said Dupin. 

"You have, of course, an accurate description of the let- 
ter?" 

"Oh, yes!" — And here the Prefect, producing a memoran- 
dum book, proceeded to read aloud a minute account of the 
internal, and especially of the external appearance of the miss- 



14 s THE PL'RLOLMiD LETTER 

ing document. Soon after finishing the perusal of this de- 
scription, he took his departure, more entirely depressed in 
spirits than I had ever known the good gentleman before. 

In about a month afterwards he paid us another visit, 
and found us occupied very nearly as before. He took a pipe 
and a chair and entered into some ordinary conversation. 
At length I said, — 

"Well, but, G , what of the purloined letter? I pre- 
sume you have at last made up your mind that there is no 
such thing as overreaching the Minister?" 

"Confound him, say I — yes; I made the re-examination, 
however, as Dupin suggested — but it was all labor lost, as I 
knew it would be." 

"How much was the reward offered, did you say?" asked 
Dupin. 

"Why, a very great deal — a very liberal reward — I don't 
like to say how much, precisely; but one thing I will say, 
that I wouldn't mind giving my individual check for fifty 
thousand francs to any one who could obtain me that letter. 
The fact is, it is becoming of more and more importance 
every day; and the reward has been lately doubled. If it 
were trebled, however, I could do no more than I have 
done." 

"Why, yes," said Dupin, drawlingly, between the whiffs 

of his meerschaum, "I really — think, G , you have not 

exerted yourself — to the utmost in this matter. You might — 
do a little more, I think, eh?" 

"How? — in what way?" 

"Why — puff, pufF — you might — pufF, pufF — employ coun- 
sel in the matter, eh? — pufF, pufF, pufF. Do you remember 
the story they tell of Abernethy?" n 

"No; hang Abernethy!" 

"To be sure! hang him and welcome. But, once upon a 
time, a certain rich miser conceived the design of sponging 
upon this Abernethy for a medical opinion. Getting up, 
for this purpose, an ordinary conversation in a private com- 



THE PURLOINED LETTER 149 

pany, he insinuated his case to the physician, as that of an 
imaginary individual. 

"'We will suppose/ said the miser, 'that his symptoms are 
such and such; now, doctor, what would you have directed 
him to take?' 

"Take!' said Abernethy, 'why, take advice, to be sure." 

"But," said the Prefect, a little discomposed, "I am per- 
fectly willing to take advice, and to pay for it. I would really 
give fifty thousand francs to any one who would aid me in 
the matter." 

"In that case," replied Dupin, opening a drawer, and pro- 
ducing a check book, "you may as well fill me up a check 
for the amount mentioned. When you have signed it, I 
will hand you the letter." 

I was astounded. The Prefect appeared absolutely thun- 
derstricken. For some minutes he remained speechless and 
motionless, looking incredulously at my friend with open 
mouth, and eyes that seemed starting from their sockets; 
then, apparently recovering himself in some measure, he 
seized a pen, and after several pauses and vacant stares, 
finally filled up and signed a check for fifty thousand francs, 
and handed it across the table to Dupin. The latter ex- 
amined it carefully and deposited it in his pocketbook; then, 
unlocking an escritoire, took thence a letter and gave it to 
the Prefect. This functionary grasped it in a perfect agony 
of joy, opened it with a trembling hand, cast a rapid glance 
at its contents, and then, scrambling and struggling to the 
door, rushed at length unceremoniously from the room and 
from the house, without having uttered a syllable since 
Dupin had requested him to fill up the check. 

When he had gone, my friend entered into some explana- 
tions. 

"The Parisian police," he said, "are exceedingly able in 
their way. They are persevering, ingenious, cunning, and 
thoroughly versed in the knowledge which their duties seem 
chiefly to demand. Thus, when G detailed to us his 



150 THE PURLOINED LETTER 

mode of searching the premises at the Hotel D , I felt 

entire confidence in his having made a satisfactory investiga- 
tion — so far as his labors extended." 

" So far as his labors extended ?" said I. 

"Yes," said Dupin. "The measures adopted were not 
only the best of their kind, but carried out to absolute per- 
fection. Had the letter been deposited within the range of 
their search, these fellows would, beyond a question, have 
found it." 

I merely laughed — but he seemed quite serious in all that 
he said. 

"The measures, then," he continued, "were good in their 
kind, and well executed; their defect lay in their being inap- 
plicable to the case, and to the man. A certain set of highly 
ingenious resources are, with the Prefect, a sort of Procrus- 
tean bed to which he forcibly adapts his designs. But he 
perpetually errs by being too deep or too shallow, for the 
matter in hand; and many a schoolboy is a better reasoner 
than he. I knew one about eight years of age, whose success 
at guessing in the game of ' even and odd' attracted universal 
admiration. This game is simple, and is played with marbles. 
One player holds in his hand a number of these toys, and 
demands of another whether that number is even or odd. If 
the guess is right, the guesser wins one; if wrong, he loses 
one. The boy to whom I allude won all the marbles of the 
school. Of course he had some principle of guessing; and 
this lay in mere observation and admeasurement of the astute- 
ness of his opponents. For example, an arrant simpleton is 
his opponent, and, holding up his closed hand asks, 'Are 
they even or odd?' Our schoolboy replied 'odd/ and loses; 
but upon the second trial he wins, for he then says to himself, 
'The simpleton had them even upon the first trial, and his 
amount of cunning is just sufficient to make him have them 
odd upon the second; I will therefore guess odd'; he guesses 
odd, and wins. Now, with a simpleton a degree above the 
first he would have reasoned thus: 'This fellow finds that in 



THE PURLOINED LETTER 151 

the first instance I guessed odd, and, in the second, he will 
propose to himself, upon the first impulse, a simple variation 
from even to odd, as did the first simpleton; but then a sec- 
ond thought will suggest that this is too simple a variation, 
and finally he will decide upon putting it even as before. I 
will therefore guess even'; he guesses even, and wins. Now 
this mode of reasoning in the schoolboy, whom his fellows 
term ' lucky,' — what, in its last analysis, is it?" 

"It is merely," I said, "an identification of the reasoner's 
intellect with that of his opponent." 

"It is," said Dupin; "and, upon inquiring of the boy by 
what means he effected the thorough identification in which 
his success consisted, I received answer as follows: 'When I 
wish to find out how wise, or how stupid, or how good, or 
how wicked is any one, or what are his thoughts at the mo- 
ment, I fashion the expression of my face, as accurately as 
possible, in accordance with the expression of his, and then 
wait to see what thoughts or sentiments arise in my mind or 
heart, as if to match or correspond with the expression.' 
This response of the schoolboy lies at the bottom of all the 
spurious profundity which has been attributed to Roche- 
foucauld, n to La Bruyere, w to Machiavelli/* and to Cam- 
panella." 

"And the identification," I said, "of the reasoner's intel- 
lect with that of his opponent, depends, if I understand you 
aright, upon the accuracy with which the opponent's intel- 
lect is admeasured." 

"For its practical value it depends upon this," replied 
Dupin, "and the Prefect and his cohort fail so frequently, 
first, by default of this identification, and, secondly, by ill- 
admeasurement, or rather through non-admeasurement, of 
the intellect with which they are engaged. They consider 
only their own ideas of ingenuity; and, in searching for any- 
thing hidden, advert only to the modes in which they would 
have hidden it. They are right in this much — that their 
own ingenuity is a faithful representative of that of the mass: 



152 THE PURLOINED LETTER 

but when the cunning of the individual felon is diverse in 
character from their own, the felon foils them, of- course. 
This always happens when it is above their own, and very 
usually when it is below. They have no variation of princi- 
ple in their investigations; at best, when urged by some un- 
usual emergency — by some extraordinary reward — they ex- 
tend or exaggerate their old modes of practice, without touch- 
ing their principles. What, for example, in this case of D , 

has been done to vary the principle of action? What is all 
this boring, and probing, and sounding, and scrutinizing 
with the microscope, and dividing the surface of the building 
into registered square inches — what is it all but an exaggera- 
tion of the application of the one principle or set of principles 
of search, which are based upon the one set of notions re- 
garding human ingenuity, to which the Prefect, in the long 
routine of his duty, has been accustomed? Do you not see 
he has taken it for granted that all men proceed to conceal 
a letter, — not exactly in a gimlet hole bored in a chair leg — 
but, at least, in some out-of-the-way hole or corner suggested 
by the same tenor of thought which would urge a man to se- 
crete a letter in a gimlet hole bored in a chair leg? And do 
you not see, also, that such recherches nooks for concealment 
are adapted only for ordinary occasions and would be adopted 
only by ordinary intellects; for, in all cases of concealment, 
a disposal of the article concealed — a disposal of it in this 
recherche manner — is, in the very first instance, presumable 
and presumed; and thus its discovery depends, not at all upon 
the acumen, but altogether upon the mere care, patience, 
and determination of the seekers; and where the case is of 
importance — or, what amounts to the same thing in policial 
eyes, when the reward is of magnitude — the qualities in 
question have never been known to fail. You will now under- 
stand what I meant in suggesting that, had the purloined 
letter been hidden anywhere within the limits of the Prefect's 
examination — in other words, had the principle of its con- 
cealment been comprehended within the principles of the 



THE PURLOINED LETTER 1 53 

Prefect — its discovery would have been a matter altogether 
beyond question. This functionary, however, has been 
thoroughly mystified; and the remote source of his defeat 
lies in the supposition that the Minister is a fool, because 
he has acquired renown as a poet. All fools are poets; this 
the Prefect feels; and he is merely guilty of a non distri- 
butio medii l in thence inferring that all poets are fools." 

"But is this really the poet?" I asked. "There are two 
brothers, I know; and both have attained reputation in let- 
ters. The Minister, I believe, has written learnedly on the 
Differential Calculus. He is a mathematician, and no poet." 

"You are mistaken; I know him well; he is both. As poet 
and mathematician, he would reason well; as mere mathe- 
matician, he could not have reasoned at all, and thus would 
have been at the mercy of the Prefect." 

"You surprise me," I said, "by these opinions, which have 
been contradicted by the voice of the world. You do not 
mean to set at naught the well-digested idea of centuries. 
The mathematical reason has long been regarded as the 
reason par excellence" 

'" Il-y-a a parier 9 n " replied Dupin, quoting from Cham- 
fort, "'que toute idee publique, toute convention reque, est une 
sottise, car elle a convenue au plus grand nombre 9 The mathe- 
maticians, I grant you, have done their best to promulgate 
the popular error to which you allude, and which is none 
the less an error for its promulgation as truth. With an art 
worthy a better cause, for example, they have insinuated 
the term 'analysis' into application to algebra. The French 
are the originators of this particular deception; but if a term 
is of any importance — if words derive any value from appli- 
cability — then ' analysis' conveys ' algebra,' about as much 
as, in Latin, 'ambitus 9 implies 'ambition,' ' religio? 'religion/ 
or 'homines honesti 9 a set of honorable men." 

"You have a quarrel on hand, I see," said I, "with some 
of the algebraists of Paris; but proceed." 

1 Fallacy. 



154 THE PURLOINED LETTER 

"I dispute the availability, and thus the value, of that 
reason which is cultivated in any especial form other than 
the abstractly logical. I dispute, in particular, the reason 
educed by mathematical study. The mathematics are the 
science of form and quantity; mathematical reasoning is 
merely logic applied to observation upon form and quantity. 
The great error lies in supposing that even the truths of what 
is called pure algebra are abstract or general truths. And 
this error is so egregious that I am confounded at the uni- 
versality w^ith which it has been received. Mathematical 
axioms are not axioms of general truth. What is true of re- 
lation — of form and quantity — is often grossly false in regard 
to morals, for example. In this latter science it is very 
usually ?mtrue that the aggregated parts are equal to the 
whole. In chemistry also the axiom fails. In the considera- 
tion of motive it fails; for two motives, each of a given value, 
have not, necessarily, a value when united, equal to the sum 
of their values apart. There are numerous other mathemati- 
cal truths which are only truths within the limits of relation. 
But the mathematician argues, from his finite truths, through 
habit, as if they were of an absolutely general applicabil- 
ity — as the world indeed imagines them to be. Bryant/ in 
his very learned Mythology, mentions an analogous source 
of error, when he says that 'although the Pagan fables are 
not believed, yet we forget ourselves continually, and make 
inferences from them as existing realities.' With the alge- 
braists, however, who are Pagans themselves, the 'Pagan 
fables' are believed, and the inferences are made, not so 
much through lapse of memory, as through an unaccountable 
addling of the brains. In short, I never yet encountered the 
mere mathematican who could be trusted out of equal roots, 
or one who did not clandestinely hold it as a point of his faith 
that x 2 +px was absolutely and unconditionally equal to q. 
Say to one of these gentlemen, by way of experiment, if you 
please, that you believe occasions may occur where x 2 +px is 
not altogether equal to q, and, having made him understand 



THE PURLOINED LETTER 1 55 

what you mean, get out of his reach as speedily as convenient, 
for, beyond doubt, he will endeavor to knock you down. 

"I mean to say," continued Dupin, while I merely laughed 
at his last observations, "that if the Minister had been no 
more than a mathematician, the Prefect would have been 
under no necessity of giving me this check. I knew him, 
however, as both mathematician and poet, and my measures 
were adapted to his capacity, with reference to the circum- 
stances by which he was surrounded. I knew him as courtier, 
too, and as a bold intriguant. 1 Such a man, I considered, 
could not fail to be aware of the ordinary policial modes of 
action. He could not have failed to anticipate — and events 
have proved that he did not fail to anticipate — the way- 
layings to which he was subjected. He must have foreseen, 
I reflected, the secret investigations of his premises. His 
frequent absences from home at night, which were hailed 
by the Prefect as certain aids to his success, I regarded only 
as ruses, to afford opportunity for thorough search to the 
police, and thus the sooner to impress them with the con- 
viction to which G , in fact, did finally arrive — the con- 
viction that the letter was not upon the premises. I felt, 
also, that the whole train of thought, which I was at some 
pains in detailing to you just now, concerning the invariable 
principle of policial action in searches for articles concealed — 
I felt that this whole train of thought would necessarily pass 
through the mind of the Minister. It would imperatively 
lead him to despise all the ordinary nooks of concealment. 
He could not, I reflected, be so weak as not to see that the 
most intricate and remote recess of his Hotel would be as open 
as his commonest closets to the eyes, to the probes, to the 
gimlets, and to the microscopes of the Prefect. I saw, in 
fine, that he would be driven, as a matter of course, to sim- 
plicity, if not deliberately induced to it as a matter of choice. 
You will remember, perhaps, how desperately the Prefect 
laughed when I suggested, upon our first interview, that it 

1 Intriguer. 



156 THE PURLOINED LETTER 

was just possible this mystery troubled him so much on ac- 
count of its being so very self-evident. " 

"Yes," said I, "I remember his merriment well. I really 
thought he would have fallen into convulsions." 

"The material world," continued Dupin, " abounds with 
very strict analogies to the immaterial; and thus some color 
of truth has been given to the rhetorical dogma, that meta- 
phor, or simile, may be made to strengthen an argument, 
as well as to embellish a description. The principle of the 
vis inert ice, 1 for example, seems to be identical in physics 
and metaphysics. It is not more true in the former, that a 
large body is with more difficulty set in motion than a smaller 
one, and that its subsequent momentum is commensurate 
with this difficulty, than it is, in the latter, that intellects 
of the vaster capacity, while more forcible, more constant, 
and more eventful in their movements than those of inferior 
grade, are yet the less readily moved, and more embarrassed 
and full of hesitation in the first few steps of their progress. 
Again: have you ever noticed which of the street signs, over 
the shop doors, are the most attractive of attention?" 

"I have never given the matter a thought," I said. 

"There is a game of puzzles," he resumed, "which is played 
upon a map. One party playing requires another to find a 
given word — the name of town, river, state, or empire — any 
word, in short, upon the motley and perplexed surface of the 
chart. A novice in the game generally seeks to embarrass 
his opponents by giving them the most minutely lettered 
names; but the adept selects such words as stretch, in large 
characters, from one end of the chart to the other. These, 
like the overlargely lettered signs and placards of the street, 
escape observation by dint of being excessively obvious; 
and here the physical oversight is precisely analogous with 
the moral inapprehension by which the intellect suffers 
to pass unnoticed those considerations which are too obtru- 
sively and too palpably self-evident. But this is a point, 
1 Force of inertia. 



THE PURLOINED LETTER 157 

it appears, somewhat above or beneath the understanding 
of the Prefect. He never once thought it probable, or possible 
that the Minister had deposited the letter immediately be- 
neath the nose of the whole world, by way of best preventing 
any portion of that world from perceiving it. 

"But the more I reflected upon the daring, dashing, and 

discriminating ingenuity of D ; upon the fact that the 

document must always have been at hand, if he intended to 
use it to good purpose; and upon the decisive evidence, 
obtained by the Prefect, that it was not hidden within the 
limits of that dignitary's ordinary search — the more satisfied 
I became that, to conceal this letter, the Minister has resorted 
to the comprehensive and sagacious expedient of not at- 
tempting to conceal it at all. 

"Full of these ideas, I prepared myself with a pair of green 
spectacles, and called one fine morning, quite by accident, 

at the Ministerial Hotel. I found D at home, yawning, 

lounging, and dawdling, as usual, and pretending to be in 
the last extremity of ennui . He is, perhaps, the most really 
energetic human being now alive — but that is only when 
nobody sees him. 

"To be even with him, I complained of my weak eyes, and 
lamented the necessity of the spectacles, under cover of which 
I cautiously and thoroughly surveyed the apartment, while 
seemingly intent only upon the conversation of my host. 

"I paid especial attention to a large writing table near 
which he sat, and upon which lay confusedly some miscella- 
neous letters and other papers, with one or two musical instru- 
ments and a few books. Here, however, after a long and 
very deliberate scrutiny, I saw nothing to excite particular 
suspicion. 

"At length my eyes, in going the circuit of the room, fell 
upon a trumpery filigree card rack of pasteboard, that hung 
dangling by a dirty blue ribbon from a little brass knob just 
beneath the middle of the mantelpiece. In this rack, which 
had three or four compartments, were five or six visiting cards 



I 5S THE PURLOINED LETTER 

and a solitary letter. This last was much soiled and crumpled. 
It was torn nearly in two, across the middle — as if a design, 
in the first instance, to tear it entirely up as worthless, had 
been altered, or stayed, in the second. It had a large black 

seal, bearing the D cipher very conspicuously, and was 

addressed, in a diminutive female hand, to D , the Min- 
ister himself. It was thrust carelessly, and even, as it seemed, 
contemptuously, into one of the upper divisions of the rack. 

"No sooner had I glanced at this letter, than I concluded 
it to be that of which I was in search. To be sure, it was, to 
all appearance, radically different from the one of which the 
Prefect had read us so minute a description. Here the seal 

was large and black, with the D cipher; there it was 

small and red, with the ducal arms of the S family. Here, 

the address, to the Minister, was diminutive and feminine; 
there the superscription, to a certain royal personage, was 
markedly bold and decided; the size alone formed a point of 
correspondence. But then, the radicalness of these differ- 
ences, which was excessive; the dirt; the soiled and torn 
condition of the paper, so inconsistent with the true methodi- 
cal habits of D , and so suggestive of a design to delude 

the beholder into an idea of the worthlessness of the docu- 
ment; these things, together with the hyperobtrusive situa- 
tion of this document, full in the view of every visitor, and 
thus exactly in accordance with the conclusions to which I 
had previously arrived; these things, I say, were strongly 
corroborative of suspicion, in one who came with the inten- 
tion to suspect. 

"I protracted my visit as long as possible, and, while I 
maintained a most animated discussion with the Minister, 
upon a topic which I knew well had never failed to interest 
and excite him, I kept my attention really riveted upon the 
letter. In this examination, I committed to memory its 
external appearance and arrangement in the rack; and also 
fell, at length, upon a discovery which set at rest whatever 
trivial doubt I might have entertained. In scrutinizing the 



THE PURLOINED LETTER 1^9 

edges of the paper, I observed them to be more chafed than 
seemed necessary. They presented the broken appearance 
which is manifested when a stiff paper, having been once 
folded and pressed with a folder, is refolded in a reversed di- 
rection, in the same creases or edges which had formed the 
original fold. This discovery was sufficient. It was clear to 
me that the letter had been turned, as a glove, inside out, 
redirected, and resealed. I bade the Minister good morning, 
and took my departure at once, leaving a gold snuffbox 
upon the table. 

"The next morning I called for the snuffbox, when we 
resumed, quite eagerly, the conversation of the preceding 
day. While thus engaged, however, a loud report, as if of a 
pistol,- was heard immediately beneath the windows of the 
Hotel, and was succeeded by a series of fearful screams, and 

the shoutings of a mob. D rushed to a casement, threw 

it open, and looked out. In the meantime, I stepped to the 
card rack, took the letter, put it in my pocket, and replaced 
it by a facsimile (so far as regards externals), which I had 

carefully prepared at my lodgings — imitating the D 

cipher, very readily, by means of a seal formed of bread. 

"The disturbance in the street had been occasioned by 
the frantic behavior of a man with a musket. He had fired it 
among a crowd of women and children. It proved, however, 
to have been without ball, and the fellow was suffered to go 

his way as a lunatic or a drunkard. When he had gone, D 

came from the window, whither I had followed him imme- 
diately upon securing the object in view. Soon afterwards 
I bade him farewell. The pretended lunatic was a man in my 
own pay." 

"But what purpose had you," I asked, "in replacing the 
letter by a facsimile? Would it not have been better, at the 
first visit, to have seized it openly, and departed?" 

"D ," replied Dupin, "is a desperate man, and a man 

of nerve. His Hotel, too, is not without attendants devoted 
to his interests. Had I made the wild attempt you suggest, 



160 THE PURLOINED LETTER 

I might never have left the Ministerial presence alive. The 
good people of Paris might have heard of me no more. But 
I had an object apart from these considerations. You know 
my political prepossessions. In this matter, I act as a parti- 
san of the lady concerned. For eighteen months the Minis- 
ter has had her in his power. She has now him in hers — since, 
being unaware that the letter is not in his possession, he will 
proceed with his exactions as if it was. Thus will he inevi- 
tably commit himself, at once, to his political destruction. 
His downfall, too, will not be more precipitate than awkward. 
It is all very well to talk about the facilis descensus Averni; n 
but in all kinds of climbing, as Catalani said of singing, it is 
far more easy to get up than to come down. In the present 
instance I have no sympathy — at least no pity — for him 
who descends. He is that monstrum horrendum" an un- 
principled man of genius. I confess, however, that I should 
like very well to know the precise character of his thoughts, 
when, being defied by her whom the Prefect terms 'a certain 
personage,' he is reduced to opening the letter which I left 
for him in the card rack." 

"How? Did you put anything particular in it?" 
"Why — it did not seem altogether right to leave the in- 
terior blank — that would have been insulting. D , at 

Vienna once, did me an evil turn, which I told him, quite good- 
humoredly, that I should remember. So, as I knew he would 
feel some curiosity in regard to the identity of the person who 
had outwitted him, I thought it a pity not to give him a 
clew. He is well acquainted with my MS., and I just copied 
into the middle of the blank sheet the words — 

1 Un dessein si funeste, 

S'il n'est dinge d'Atree, est digne de Thyeste.' n 

They are to be found in Crebillon's n Airee." 



SUGGESTIONS AND NOTES 

TOPICS FOR DISCUSSION 

A. Should Poe have remained in Mr. Allan's countingroom? 

B. Do Poe's poems surpass his tales? If so, why? 

C. Did Poe write any impersonal poetry? If so, what? 

D. Which had the greater effect upon Poe's life — heredity or en- 

vironment? 

E. He was a careful critic of literature. Why did he fail as an editor? 

F. Does Poe deserve any pity for his reckless, dissipated life? If 

so, why? 

G. Is Poe as great a poet as Lowell or Bryant or Longfellow? Give 

evidence to justify your answer. 
H. Reread The Bells. What attributes of greatness does it possess? 
I. Was Poe a genius? Try to find in your library the opinions of 
his critics. 

NOTES 

At best, notes prove to be of only small value to the student who 
is eager to master a given story or poem. Better than all the notes 
is a rereading (perhaps a tenth rereading) of an obscure place in 
the masterpiece. Reread until you gradually grow into the author's 
own feeling and see the thing as he saw it. Better than a set of notes 
is a small reference library — such a collection as seems worthy to be 
kept in one's home in later years. Know, too, the meanings of all 
words. Rid yourself of the habit of guessing — know. The better 
publishers have many books of reference. For example, Guerber's 
Myths of Greece and Rome l should be owned; not merely consulted 
in some library during vacant hours. The notes here appended are 
intended to be simple and helpful. 

Some general instructions in the method of studying the prose tales 

are not amiss at this point. Read the stories hurriedly for the plot. 

Be certain you can trace it through all its various stages of progress. 

1 American Book Company. 

161 



1 62 NOTES 

Reread always. Note the opening lines. Arc they conversational? 
Do they give a character hint? Do they give time or place? — 
Stories, like plays, have a setting. What is it in the case under con- 
sideration, and how is it created? Is it an interior or an exterior 
or both? Is it all physically real or is there anything imaginary 
about it? Setting will create an atmosphere. This is the effect 
or spirit of the story. Is it humorous? Mysterious? Gloomy? 
Exciting? Then, too, we must watch for climax; that is, the highest 
point of interest. Where does it come in a particular story? How 
do you know this is the exact climax? — To draw a character that 
is natural is called character portrayal. Are the people in the story 
made real and believable? Watch closely as you read the closing 
lines. Do they give a satisfying finishing touch? Does the story 
make one impression on you or many? If only one, it is carefully 
unified. 1 

TO (Page 13) 

This poem has caused some argument relative to the date of its 
publication. It is probable that it first appeared in 1827, in The 
Literary Messenger. It is generally supposed to have been addressed 
to Mrs. Shelton, whom as Miss Royster he greatly admired. 

The poem lacks the rhythm which is so charming a characteris- 
tic of Poe. 

TO THE RIVER (Page 13) 

First published in 1829. This lyric is graceful, and suggestive 
of his later genius. 

TO HELEN (Page 14) 

This now famous poem first appeared in 183 1. It was dedicated 
to Mrs. Stanard. The poet's liberty in changing her given name 
was spoken of in the introduction, page 7. 

Mythology plays a very large part in this wonderfully delicate 
lyric. Although we must not be too certain as to possible allusions, 
he hints at the nomadic Ulysses in line 4, and adds both Psyche 
(the beautiful maiden who won the heart of Cupid) and the Naiads 
(the nymphs so frequently found in classic myths). Moreover, 

1 For fuller study of the short story see Introduction to Brander Mat- 
thews' The Short-Story, and J. Berg Esenwein's Writing the Short Story. 



NOTES 163 

he brings in the places so closely associated with the beginnings 
and belief in myths, Greece and Rome. 

Why omit the prepositions before "Greece" and "Rome"? 
Would they strengthen or weaken the stanza? 

Note the poet's ways of picturing beauty. First, he refers to 
"hair" ("hyacinth" probably because of the fact that he loved this 
flower). Next he refers to her "airs" (or manners). Then, in the 
last stanza, he brings in posture. Here we have the added hint 
that he may be using the Greek word "Psyche" in its original 
meaning of "mind" or "soul." 

Why such brevity in the last line of the poem? 

THE SLEEPER (Page 14) 

Originally appearing under the title, Irene, this poem was first 
published in a collection in 1831. Later it was printed in two 
magazines. 

Pronounce the final "e" in "Irene." 

Note the appeal to the senses. The whole poem is intended to 
produce the drowsiness expected from the title. This is one of 
Poe's arts — so-called "tone color." 

Lethe. To drink from this stream of the underworld brought 
forgetfulness to the soul. 

LENORE (Page 16) 

This poem, as A Pczan, also appeared in 183 1. Somewhat re- 
vised, it was published three times later. 

Stanzas one and three are the comments of professed friends of 
Lenore. Stanzas two and four are Guy De Vere's replies to these. 

broken is the . . . bowl. A biblical allusion referring, of course, 
to death. 

Stygian — the adjective form of Styx ; river of Hades. 

Peccavimus. "We are guilty." 

The spirit of the poem comes in the last stanza. Rather the 
triumphant "paean" than the dreary "dirge." Why? 

THE VALLEY OF UNREST (Page 17) 

Another of the 183 1 group. It shows little of Poe's gift of rhythm. 
Hebrides obviously refers to the well-known group of islands. 
A neat parallel crowns the poem in the last four lines. 



164 NOTES 

HYMN (Page 18) 

Published in 1835 in the tale, Morella. 

How many times do you find the figure of antithesis? Poe makes 
a definite use of it. What use? 

Utter simplicity and frank sincerity give the Hymn the right to be 
studied with interest. 

TO ONE IN PARADISE (Page 19) 

This poem was also published in 1835 and like the last lyric it is 
a part of another tale. It later appeared many times either in col- 
lected form or in the magazines of the day. 

Note the little cumulative catalogue in line 13. 

Regret, which is the basic note of so much of Poe's work, shows 
clearly here. 

TO F (Page 19) 

This appeared in 1835, under the caption, To Mary. The inspira- 
tion is still uncertain. It later was published under the title, To One 
Departed. 

Note in these last poems how much appears as parenthetical 
matter. The modern poet more often employs the dash or a series 
of periods. 

What figure of speech is employed in the last stanza? 



TO ZANTE (Page 20) 

Published first in 1837. 

Zante is one of the Ionian islands. 

No more is another example of the basic idea back of the poet's 
work. Regret caused Poe to write, even as patriotism caused Whit- 
tier, or the greatness of nature caused Bryant to write such remark- 
able lyrics. 

"Isola d'oro! Fior diLevante!" is to be translated into "Golden 
Isle! Flower of the Levant!" Levant refers to that part of the 
Mediterranean to the eastward from Italy. 

BRIDAL BALLAD (Page 20) 

This poem first appeared in The Southern Literary Messenger in 
1837. It was twice reprinted. 






NOTES l65 

The JWW is a fine example for the .t.dy of Poe' , •«"*££ 

"well, swell, knell jeu,aeu. j meaning since sense is 

r^S^'r^rK^S here tame - he 
clearly seen. 

THE CONQUEROR WORM (Page 21) 

4ttZ*£E*£Z* players C**- t Tn*. 

fatalism, but no more. ™^ n W as "the blue flower" 

Phantom has •"^^^^StepU.p. better, 

L'^or^ii^Happme., Wealth, Fame, 0, the 

like * . t_ trtrn ftlipqp verses the wretchedness he por- 

U, as fotgtve the , or «o r o hes« «» ^ ^ „, see ; the 

a^taS-S : mora! troth that we cannot long re.tat- 
"from dust to dust." 

DREAMLAND (Page 23) 

g£ howtetm. *&. are used as the fas. six. What was the 

poet's object in so doing? 

rlrrVtCreaXe opposed - *. "ultimate dim 

T Thule This term is at best quite vague, ft was first used by 

of the frozen North. _ 

Ghouls were unfriendly spirits of the night 

W£^<£££ ^TATwe^d greoious 

jewels. 



l66 NOTES 



THE RAVEN (Page 24) 

This — Poe's poetical masterpiece — first appeared in the New York 
Evening Mirror in the year 1 845. Poe did not know, owing to phys- 
ical and mental conditions, how famous it made him. He, however, 
lived long enough to discuss the poem and to give something of its 
mechanical structure and the ideas which were in his mind at its 
creation. 

The conception behind the poem is simple enough. The sorrowful 
lover is trying to forget his grief for his dead Lenore. His reveries 
are at their deepest when the mysterious Raven is dramatically in- 
troduced. To it the lover expresses his doubts and fears, and the 
refrain, " Nevermore," is the inevitable reply or comment. His 
Lenore is lost forever; and "Mournful and Never-Ending Remem- 
brance," typified by the Raven, alone remains to him, — " still is 
sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my 
chamber door." 

Some of the means Poe employed to attain the weird effects in this 
poem are worth noting. Alliteration abounds. Find the most strik- 
ing examples. Through the sudden creation of an atmosphere the 
author is able to place us promptly in the position of the man who 
listened to the Raven's "'nevermore." Note how vividly Poe de- 
scribes the mental and physical setting before he brings to our at- 
tention the chief character — in this case, the Raven. More than 
thirty lines are taken up in preparation. Although Poe is primarily 
a lyric poet, he chooses in this instance the story form, and by unique 
treatment gives it remarkable dramatic power. 

The closing stanza, weirdly melancholy, is highly artistic, and 
gives the prophetic stroke of finality to a master poem. 

Raven. Birds are frequently used to symbolize different emotions. 
The dove means peace; the lark, aspiration; the nightingale, melody. 
Why is the raven used in literature as a bird of evil omen? 

Pallas. The goddess of wisdom. What is the allegorical signif- 
icance of the Raven's perching on a bust of Pallas? 

seraphim. Hebrew plural of seraph. 

Wretch is not addressed to the Raven but to the speaker him- 
self. 

nepenthe. A drug of the ancients taken to induce forget- 
fulness. 



NOTES 167 

Prophet. The bird's odd coming and still stranger language make 
the lover into a half worshiper. Surely the Raven, he reasons, can 
tell him of his possible future in the distant Paradise (Aidenn). 

balm in Gilead. See Jeremiah, VIII, 22. 

EULALIE (Page 29) 

This delicate lyric was published in 1845, and can therefore be 
placed with Poe's mature work. It is highly poetical and inclines 
toward the figure of hyperbole. The repetition in the closing lines 
of each stanza gives it a desirable newness and beauty of rhythm. 

Astarte. A Phoenician goddess of love. Classical writers fre- 
quently confused her with Diana, goddess of the moon. 

ULALUME (Page 30) 

First published in 1847. In this poem Poe is supposed to have 
used a number of words, self-created, both for the necessities of 
rime and for the more plausible idea of keeping to the original at- 
mosphere of weirdness. In Ulalume he again shows his delight in 
both the mystical and the supernatural. 

Auber, Weir, Yaanek. Mythical places, doubtless chosen be- 
cause of the strangeness and euphony of their names. 

scoriae. Consisting of lava. 

Astarte. See note on same, Eulalie. 

Dian. Diana, goddess of the moon. ' 

Lion. The constellation Leo. 

Lethean. See Lethe, note on The Sleeper. 

sibyllic. Mysterious. See sibyl in any dictionary. 

TO HELEN (Page 33) 

Published in 1848. Note that this lyric is unrimed. The imagery 
is distinct and the figures used are strong. The last four lines in 
the third section present a parallel structure worthy of careful 
study. As a whole the poem is more oratorical than poetical and 
reminds the careful reader of certain bits of Wordsworth. 

FOR ANNIE (Page 35) 

This poem, which appeared in 1849, has received scanty praise 
and been severely censured by a number of English scholars. Even 



[68 NOTES 

the ordinary student can readily see the lack of poetical expression 
in man}' of the words and in a number of the complete lines. At 
least it can be said for the poem that it has lived — a rare compliment 
to any literary work. We might add favorable comment upon 
the fact that it is lacking in the cynicism and morbid tone, which 
prevail throughout Poe's poems. 

naphthaline. Inflammable. 

myrtles. Signifying love in absence. 

roses. Symbolical of love. 

pansies. Stand for thoughtfulness. 

rosemary. "There's rosemary, that's for remembrance." Ham- 
let, Act IV, Scene V. 

rue. Symbolical of sorrowful remembrance. 

THE BELLS (Page 38) 

This was another poem to appear in 1849. To the student who 
desires a literary excellence in his work above his fellows, this selec- 
tion will yield abundant material for the closest study. Study it 
for tone-color. There is a vital relationship existing between the 
words themselves and the meaning the poet desires for his readers. 
Study the meaning of its words. Here there is great variety and 
many will be new and, if mastered, will add richness to one's vocabu- 
lary. Poe has gone beyond mere definitions and has dealt in delicate 
shades of meaning. Follow them that you may better understand 
this poem. Master the rime scheme. Get the pictures. Note the 
happy parallels. Compare with Southey's Lodore for onomato- 
poetic effect. 

Runic. Mysterious, magic. 

ANNABEL LEE (Page 42) 

This was first published in the New York Tribune in 1849 and 
was widely copied thereafter. The lines are easily understood and 
contain that wonderful element of the dramatic — conserved feeling. 
It is a simple, sweet ballad. 

TO MY MOTHER (Page 43) 

Published in 1849. Addressed as it was to one who was "more 
than mother" to the poet (Virginia's mother), it is a tender tribute 






NOTES 169 

and one well deserved, according to all of Poe's biographers. Al- 
though put in the stiff sonnet form, it shows a warmth of feeling. 

ELDORADO (Page 43) 

This, the last of Poe's poems to be published, appeared in the 
Griswold edition of 1850. It may be considered as the poet's es- 
timate of his own life — ever in quest and never attaining. In con- 
nection with the Eldorado it is interesting to remember Moore's 
Utopia, another Land of Promise; and the famous mythical Elysian 
Fields of the ancients. 

THE ASSIGNATION (Page 45) 

This tale was first published about 1835. It was then called, 
The Visionary, which title seems less vague and quite as appro- 
priate. The fanciful is in high play and we catch the spirit of rare 
poesy, which did not leave Poe's soul even in the creation of weird 
tales. The story reflects, with unusual accuracy, a foreign atmos- 
phere. 

Careful study of the first page will reveal a new method of opening 
a story. It is a unique character study and at the same time a fresh 
mode of giving atmosphere. Is the latter more mental or physical? 

Sir Thomas More. This historical character was a brilliant states- 
man and author. He was beheaded in the year 1535 for a disagree- 
ment with Henry VIII. His famous Utopia was widely read and his 
other writings were probably well known to Poe. 

Cimabue. An Italian painter living in the thirteenth century. 
His originality was above that of his predecessors and so Poe used 
him to mark a certain artistic development. 

Guido. Another Italian painter who lived in the latter part of 
the sixteenth century, and the early part of the seventeenth. He. 
was known for his sympathy of craftsmanship and his soberly- 
treated themes. 

Canova. Antonio Canova (1 757-1 822), an Italian sculptor, who 
executed a substitute for the "Venus de Medici." This work is 
now in the Pitti Palace. 

Non ha 1 ottimo etc. "The most excellent artist has no con- 
ception which is not contained in a single block of marble." 

Politian. Angelo Poliziana (1454-1494), an Italian scholar and 
poet. 



i;o ' NOTES 

THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER (Page 59) 

This, Poo's greatest story, appeared first in 1839 an d later became 
a part of a collection called Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque. It 
is a bit more than a "tale" since it is the product of a distinct and 
finished short-story technique. It merits a place among the world's 
masterpieces in this latter form of literary art. 

Son coeur, etc. "His heart is a suspended lute; as often as it is 
touched it plays." 

"The Haunted Palace." This ballad was first published in The 
American Museum in 1839. It found a place in this story because 
the wording seemed strikingly appropriate, as will be seen upon read- 
ing the complete tale. The song gives an excellent foreshadowing. 

other men. This is said to refer to Watson, Spallanzani, Percival, 
and the Bishop of LandafT. 

Our books. This and the paragraph which follows show Poe's 
wide reading. It must not be forgotten that he was a critic as well as 
a poet and teller of tales. He previously mentioned von Weber and 
Fuseli — one a German composer still held in high esteem by music 
lovers, although he died in 1826; the other a painter of the imagi- 
native school of art. Poe had a genius for accumulating an inex- 
haustible supply of out-of-the-way facts, which he wove into his 
writing. 

Gresset was a noted French poet of the eighteenth century; 
Machiavelli was both statesman and novelist; Swedenborg, a 
Swedish theologian; Holberg, a Danish author of the eighteenth 
century; Flud, an English physician who lived in the sixteenth cen- 
tury; Tieck, a noted name in this series of the great, being one of 
the most famous of German writers; and Pomponius Mela, an an- 
cient Roman, who wrote upon geographical subjects. 

The purpose of the paragraph is to give the reader something of 
the atmosphere of culture in the Usher mansion. 

Mad Trist of Sir Launcelot Canning. Both author and volume 
are fictitious. 

A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM (Page 81) 

This tale was first brought out in magazine form in 1841:. The 
quotation, which Poe has taken from the writings of a seventeenth 
century English clergyman, gives the rather striking keynote. The 



NOTES 171 

title (a Norwegian word meaning "whirlpool") helps the author to 
establish immediately a certain natural atmosphere. The-story- 
within-a-story, although frequently employed by modern story 
writers, is not a good device. There is an inevitable loss. In the 
hands of a master the loss naturally is not so apparent. 

Nubian geographer. Presumably Claudius Ptolemy, the famous 
Egyptian astronomer and geographer. 

Mare Tenebrarum. "Sea of darkness/' a title given to the At- 
lantic by early writers. 

Phlegethon is a river of Hades. Here used as a metaphor. 

Kircher. Athanasius Kircher (1601-1680), a German scholar 
and mathematician. 

THE GOLDBUG (Page 100) 

This — easily the most popular of Poe's tales — was the winner of a 
one hundred dollar prize for short stories, offered by The Dollar 
Newspaper, of Philadelphia, in 1843. It has the requisites of a 
popular story — a hero of romantic tendencies, a plot of ingenious 
turn and twist, an atmosphere of adventure, and, through all, the 
allurement of mystery. 

Swammerdamm. Jan Swammerdam (163 7-1680), a Dutch 
naturalist and noted collector of insects. 

Captain Kidd. This character, so oddly combining the heroic 
and the erratic, has been widely discussed. His buried treasure 
has been the theme of many stories. Since he was such an intimate 
figure both in this country and abroad, the student will do well to 
read an extended account of his nomadic career. 

cryptographs. Cryptography was to Poe a favorite subject for 
study. So interested was he in this odd theme that he became some- 
thing of an authority and wrote upon the subject. He here uses it to 
excellent advantage, since it embodies both mystery and suspense. 

Xote how sharply the plot of this story breaks in two: where does 
the mystification end, and the explanation begin? Why is the dog 
introduced in the story? The negro? The goldbug? In the posi- 
tion of which character in the story does the reader find himself? 

THE PURLOINED LETTER (Page 140) 

This tale found its first publication in the year 1845. Together 
with The Murders in the Rue Morgue it is to be considered as a 



\J2 NOTES 

successful forerunner of the modern detective story, which recently 
had great vogue. It shows a skillful handling of plot situations. 
Detective stories are dependent upon this latter ability and there- 
fore this story may be taken as a model for its type. The Purloined 
Letter loses, as all stories of this class must lose, in that they are the 
product of the head rather than the heart. To many readers this 
loss appears to be insignificant. 

Nil sapientiae, etc. "To wisdom nothing is more offensive than 
too great acumen." Seneca was a noted Roman philosopher. 

au troisieme. Literally, third story (of a house), according to 
the French system of counting. Equivalent to our fourth story. 

Abernethy. John Abernethy (1746-183 1) was a famous English 
surgeon connected with St Bartholomew's Hospital, London. 

Rochefoucauld. Francis La Rochefoucauld (r6~sh' foo ko') (1613- 
1680), a French epigrammatic moralist. 

La Bruyere. Jean de La Bruyere (1645-1696), French moralist 
and essayist. 

Machiavelli. Nicollo Machiavelli (1 469-1 527), writer and states- 
man of Italy. 

Campanella. Tommaso Campanella (1 568-1639), an Italian 
monk and philosopher. 

u Il-y-a a parier, etc." " You can wager that every generally ac- 
cepted idea, every received convention is foolishness, for it has 
suited the majority." Chamfort (1 741-1794), a French writer of 
maxims. 

Bryant. Jacob Bryant (1715-1804), an English antiquarian, 
known chiefly as a writer on mythology. 

facilis descensus AvernL "The descent to Hell is easy." 

monstrum horrendum. "A monster to make one shiver." See 
Aineid, III, 658. 

"Un dessein, etc." " If so wicked a plot is not worthy of Atreus. 
it is worthy of Thyestes." Crebillon (1674-1762) was the authol 
of the tragedy, Atree et Thyeste. 



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